


Conspicuous Consumption

by LotusRox, thelonebamf



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-07-21 21:35:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 71,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7405741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LotusRox/pseuds/LotusRox, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelonebamf/pseuds/thelonebamf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After receiving word from a man he long since took for dead that his own life might be in danger, Hal Emmerich has no choice but to seek out protection. The man that comes to his door is quiet yet capable, though he has no idea of the true nature of the man he's been hired to keep alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_This is fine. It will be fine. It's a good idea. At least, it's the best idea you've been able to come up with so that must be worth something._

 

It is late and Hal is pacing at a rate he would call "frantic" if the very word didn't  have upset him. He has to calm down, relax, remember that the man coming to see him about the job wants to work for him, so he has nothing to prove.

 

Or deny...

 

* * *

 

 

Used to taking in every detail as he is, it is hard for David not to notice the obvious age of the manor, and how the windows seem darkened from the inside.

 

The pouring rain isn't much of a nuisance compared to how long it has been since he had last gotten hired. David isn't in a position to reject anything. No matter how nervous his potential employer had sounded in their correspondence, he is comfortable knowing he can take the risks involved. It was either that or going back to the military, in any case.

 

He rings the bell and waits.

 

Hal jumps a bit more than necessary as the bell rings. Though he's been waiting for it to sound, hasn't he? There is no call for nervousness. He takes a deep breath. And another. And a third just for good measure before going to the door.

 

A quick glance through the peephole isn't much good, the storm outside making it difficult to see much more than a silhouette.   _Looks the type,_ _though._ He thinks, opening the door just a crack.

 

"Um, hello. You're... you? I mean, you're... we wrote before? Yes?"

 

"I suppose. Hal Emmerich?", he asks, just to make sure, not entering the house just yet. Jesus, but doesn’t his supposed charge looked paranoid. They always were, but-- as far as he can see, in the dim light of the threshold, he looks positively pale. Unnaturally so.

 

"My name is Sears. David Sears. Did you contact me?", he offers, still alert. Better to make sure.

 

Hal nods vigorously, opening the door at last, a surge of relief washing over him. "Y-yes. Sorry. Can't be too careful. Probably should have set up a... code word or something." He winces slightly. "Except that's probably not something people do in real life, is it. Just in stories."  He steps aside and motions quickly for David to come inside.

 

David enters, shrugs. "I don't mind setting safety protocols. Once we've talked about the job,” and closes the door behind him.

 

The room inside is uncharacteristically dim. "Mind if I turn on the lights?" He prefers seeing exactly who was he dealing with.

 

"Oh, yes. Sorry. It’s my... sensitive eyes. C-Chronic condition..." There is a soft click and the lights flickered on, throwing a yellow light over the room. Though the furniture is all antique, the room is devoid of the usual extra bric-a-brac that seemed to collect in homes of this age.

 

The scientist stands sheepishly by the wall, wide eyes staring from behind round wire frames.

 

Dave takes note of everything before settling his gaze on the thin, frail-looking man in the middle of the room. He nods, "Understood."

 

"So, Mr. Emmerich. Do you mind giving me the details? I'm afraid knowing why you need a bodyguard is kind of part of the job. Can't protect you from the unknown, you see." He looks so nervous... So breakable. What could be possibly be gained from threatening such a man?

 

"I- I'm a researcher." Hal begins. "Independent. Working on... some things left to me by my father who was in a similar line. Of work."  He takes a deep breath and motions for David to take a seat in the parlor and he finds a chair for himself.

 

"The nature of my work is very delicate, and... controversial. There's a lot of people who would rather I not..."

 

David takes the offered seat, still examining his potential employer. He clarifies, "It's not my business the exact nature of your work, or to judge your research - I just need to know about the kind of threats I might encounter, to protect your life and wellbeing."

 

He pauses to think. "So. Is it other scientists? Military?" He hopes the other man understands he's being practical, and to the point, instead of hostile.

 

If David doesn't want to know any of the specifics it is just as well. "The sort of people who want to stop my... my work...tend not go through usual channels. They cannot exactly cut my funding or get to me that way, and are more likely to hire... professionals. People like you. I... I guess."

 

It is a little unnerving to think that the man sitting across the table could just as easily be sent to kill him, had circumstances been even a little different.

 

"So you think", Dave states carefully, "the kind of people they'd send after you will be professionals. Who won't stop at things like scheduling, or normal security." That kind of job. Like being against Scotland Yard or worse.

 

He hasn't had a challenge in quite a while. Grimly, he nods. "Alright then. Shall we start today? Should we fine-tune the payment? It sounds like you need me to move in, for protection at all times. That can be arranged."

 

Just like that? Hal is so accustomed to planning things out, drawing up blueprints and agendas that it surprises him to hear David make such a quick judgement.

 

"I don't know... I mean for around the clock surveillance... what would be sufficient? You can name the price though."

 

Is that odd for him to say? Maybe he shouldn't sound over eager. But the idea of being able to work and rest without constant fear looming over him is almost impossible to imagine. And he is so, so desperate for even a small measure of peace.

 

That kind of desperation is plain to see for David- Emmerich's pale features twisted with surprise, and fear, and hope. And, of course he will need a plan, and blueprints of the house to make it safe, as well as a number of other measures before he deems the place reviewed and secured enough to even start working. But that is part of his job. Right now, what he needs to know are the exact needs of his client.

 

"'Round the clock surveillance it is then." He takes a notepad from the pocket inside his coat, and writes a number. He gives it to Emmerich, waiting for him to judge. "The rest, you can leave to me."

 

"So... you'll do it? Accept me? As... as a client?" Hal glances down at the number, barely long enough to process it before nodding. "This is fine. I'll set it up. However you like. I... I... thank you." He swipes at his face, feeling absolutely stupid for nearly breaking down in front of someone as calm, collected and... professional as David, but he can’t help it.

 

"Unless there's something else you're failing to tell me, I don't see why I wouldn't accept you", he nods. "As I said - Your research itself is not my business. My business, from now on, is keeping you alive."

 

The relief in his client's face... That's a part he likes about his job, no use in denying that. It’s better than what he used to do before getting into this other line of work.

 

“No... there's nothing else,"Hal says quickly l, shoulders sagging in relief. "I apologize, I thought this all might be more difficult. I feel foolish for not considering it before."

 

"I can ah, show you to a room. There are a few actually, to choose from. It's just me in the house and I tend to keep close to my workspace."

 

"Give me something close to yours, and with good visibility of that then,"David nods. "No time like the present to start.”

 

Hal takes a moment before pulling himself out of his chair and heading for the hallway. "There's a room in the attic, and one on the second floor that might be better for viewing the entire property, but I prefer to stay closer to the ground level." He smiles weakly. "Not much for heights, I'm afraid."

 

Leading David down the hallway he pushes open a door to a plain, but fully furnished room, a decent bed, dresser and desk all made of cherry wood, dusty but of fine design.

 

"Would this work out? The door to the basement is just on the other side of the hall. That's where I am most of the time."

 

The quickness of the answer makes David suspicious, but he follows Hal around, mentally mapping the house. He nods in approval at the room he's presented with. "This works just fine. Your room? Where is it, then?"

 

He will still need to go around the entire house and check it for security flaws and vulnerabilities, but that is pretty basic information he needs to know, besides the location of his client's lab.

 

"N-next door to this one," Hal says quietly. It is true, the bedroom he calls his own- even smaller than the one he's offered to David is there at the end of the hall. But in reality he was rarely to be found inside, more often falling asleep at his desk or the simple cot he'd put in his lab after finally admitting his own bad habits to himself.

 

"Do---do you need anything else? Practical things? There's some food in the kitchen but not much. I can... arrange to purchase whatever it is you prefer.”

 

David takes in the new information, and the tone in which it’s said. Nodding, he answers, "Food is alright. I can make my own later. As for settling in, I can bring most of my belongings  tomorrow. I don't own much." Frowning for a second, he realizes he may have lost a little bit of professionalism when he asks - "Wait a moment. Have you eaten?"

The question stops Hal in his tracks. And things had been going so well. The truth is he can eat, if necessary. It doesn't cause him pain or make him ill... but he gains little enjoyment from it, only does so when it is necessary to keep up appearances, which is thankfully, rarely. He would have to be more mindful with another person around.

 

"Oh I... don't eat much, honestly. Too busy with my research. Heh," he tries to laugh it off a little. "I'm afraid I am a bit of a cliché in that way. Black coffee and tea around the clock, you know?"

 

"'Course I know." His raised eyebrow just isn't going down. "But you should be making a habit of eating regularly from now on. Pretty useless to keep a bodyguard if you'll be dropping dead on your own, don't you think?"

 

Making a choice, David says, "Show me the kitchen. I can take a look around later."

 

He will need some time to map the house. And this way, he can get to know his now employer better. Ask about his habits, for example. He's going to spend most of his time in this place with him, after all.

 

"You're ah... right. Of course." Hal hangs his head slightly, feeling like an admonished child. _Still, you hired him to make sure you stay alive as long as... you need to. And he'll only do that job as long as he thinks everything is normal, so..._

 

He leads David to the kitchen, which is of decent size, having been intended to store and prepare food for a large family, but it is devoid of anything but the essentials. He gives brief explanations of where everything is kept,making sure to let Dave know he may change things around if he prefers.

 

David nods but displeasure is evident on his face. Hal imagines he’ll end up having to eat in order to keep up appearances, but finds little joy in the prospect.

 

“You go ahead and get back to your work. I’ll fix up something here,” David calls over his shoulder as he rummages through the pantry. There’s not much to work with, but he’ll manage to pull together something basic and nourishing.

 

With a gentle bow of his head, Hal excuses himself and retreats to his basement workspace. He hates to call it a laboratory, but supposes that would be a fitting monniker as well. It is difficult to return to work, mind still reeling from the events of the evening as he tries to adjust his mindset to that of a man who will now be sharing his home.

 

“There is nothing to be afraid of,” he whispers to himself, which is a lie. There is plenty to be worried about, not the least of which is slipping up and revealing himself to David.

 

His eyes dart to the letter still open on his desk. He really has no choice.

 

Perhaps it will be easier to keep his wits about him if he attends to his needs with more frequency. If he will have to join David at the table, he’ll manage better if he’s fed beforehand. Taking a look at the door at the top of the stairs, he decides David will likely be busy with his preparations for some time.

 

The key turns in the lock on the refrigeration unit with a heavy click, and a faint smell of ammonia escapes into the air. Hal hardly looks pleased at its contents, but removes a single, sealed container from the shelf. There is a burner in his lab, and he knows he’ll have an easier time of it if he heats up the contents sitting thickly within the glass in his hands, but he’s spoiled more than one batch when he wasn’t being careful, and nervous as he is Hal knows he isn’t at his best. He’ll have to drink it cold.

 

* * *

 

Upstairs, David manages to get a simple dinner thrown together. A pot of water on the stove for soup and a kettle for tea. The fire warms the kitchen and he’s suddenly very aware of how cold the house really is.

 

It isn’t much but soon the meal is ready, thanks mostly in part to the provisions he carried in his own bag. Soon a bowl of broth and pot of tea are being carried down to Hal who is no doubt deep in work in his lab.

 

“Made a little something to get you through the n-”

 

He stops in the doorway, the look Hal is giving him clear as day. He wasn’t meant to see this.

 

“I… I…” Hal stares down at the vial in his hands, still half full of the same red liquid that clings to his lips and it’s a wonder he manages to set it down on his desk rather than dropping it outright. He scrambles for the nearest scrap of rag, stumbles over his words as he hurriedly wipes at his mouth. “It… isn’t what it seems. I was merely…” He coughs and sputters, flecks of crimson flying to the floor.

 

“Try to breathe...” David sets the tray down and takes a few steps towards the man who is trembling wildly, though it likely has as much to do with the temperature in his laboratory as it does with the shock of being caught. He peers into Hal’s face, inspecting his eyes, the color of his skin, and leans back at last. “There’s no need to hide it.”

 

Hal can only stare, confused. His eyes dart to the vial on his desk and he opens his mouth but fails to find the words to explain.

 

“There’s no shame in it, Emmerich. It's just something I'd rather you had told me on your own. It’s cow’s blood? For consumption?”

 

Hal nods, dumbfounded. Was it really to be as simple as that. Did David somehow understand everything? Stranger still, was he truly alright with it?

 

“Y-yes,” he stammered at last. “I have to have it at regular in-intervals to-”

 

David nods, effectively cutting him off. “This explains a lot. The fatigue and the paleness. Your clear lack of appetite and obvious weight loss.”

 

Hal frowns as he finds himself lost in David’s train of thought, perhaps they’d both misunderstood the state of things. “Of course. I’m sorry for not bringing it up sooner.”

 

“You’re hardly going to recover down here. Come upstairs. I’ll bring the tray and you’ll eat. Tomorrow I’ll go into town and fetch some supplies to help with your recovery. And we’ll keep an eye on the coughing. Don’t be reckless, eat everything I put in front of you, and you'll soon be right as rain.” He gives Hal a reassuring pat on the shoulder before turning to leave.

 

It is a moment before Hal is able to move again, mind racing to put together the pieces of the conversation. He looks over at the vial of blood and at last it all makes sense.

 

_Consumption._

 

David doesn’t suspect the truth or anything near it. He believes Hal to be suffering from a serious, but unfortunately all too common malady. He thinks Hal is sick.

 

He’s not entirely wrong.

 

* * *

 

 

A week passes without incident and Hal marvels at how quickly the days go by. There is something calming about David’s presence in the house that has nothing to do with his role as a bodyguard, although that too puts his mind at ease.

 

Rather, it is the rhythm his life has adopted that shapes his days and frequently his nights. In the past he has always worked without end, eating when he could bear his hunger no longer, resting when the mistakes in his work became too numerous and severe.

 

He still works through the night, but some tiny part of him is always mindful of the time, eyes darting to the clock as it strikes eleven. A knock on the door always follows. David bidding him goodnight.

 

Sitting through mealtimes, forcing himself to consume what David prepares is a small price to pay for the moments on conversation. David has traveled across the world, and though he speaks little of his own life, he describes each location with a tantalizing level of detail. Hal finds himself asking question after question, paying little mind as his plate grows cold.

 

A week. Hardly any time at all.

 

And yet, perhaps far longer than he should have hoped.

 

David is sitting outside, enjoying the last moments of the sun’s warmth as it teases at the tops of the trees on the edge of the estate. The stone in his hands has been put to good use this afternoon, all of the kitchen’s knives in sore need of sharpening. Til now, he’s made do with his pocket knife, but finding a few free hours in his day decided to invest them in some overdo upkeep.

 

Hal joins him just as the sun goes down but says nothing, content to simply watch the man work, mesmerized as the thin film of oil slides between the stone and the blade.

 

It all happens so fast. The slip of his hand. The deep cut, going lengthwise from the tip of his index to his palm. The blood getting everywhere. David shouts.

 

"Shit!"

 

Hal gasps, pale skin going practically white as his hand shot to his face, covering his mouth.  Everything is happening so quickly.

 

_No. No. Hell. This... this could have worked._

 

_Just... stop. Stop. Look away. Go somewhere else. Say it makes you ill._

 

_Just._

 

_No._

 

_Put his hand down. Stop touching him. Don't look at him. Don't look at all. Just go before..._

 

He closes his eyes as hard as he can, whole body shaking on the spot as he tries to force himself to release David's injured hand.

 

_I can... smell it... it's..._

 

"I'm sorry!" he yells out loud, tears beginning to fall from his eyes.

 

This... this was confusing as hell. David’s hand hurt, and it doesn’t stop bleeding but-- "It's alright, Emmerich. It was my fault."

 

If anything, being this uncoordinated only reflects extremely poorly on him and his skills. He should've been mindful of the dull steel and how easily it slipped across the whetstone.. And now Hal was on the verge of having a panic attack.

 

That has to be his priority, injury or not. One-handed, he pulls him closer to support him, not wanting to get blood all over him either. "Breathe. Just breathe. Are you alright?"

 

Hal's body shakes as Dave draws him closer. _God. No. He has no idea. And you... you sick, sick monster. You're too fucking weak to stop this. Why the hell are you so worried about dying?_

 

He can't stop himself from bringing his own hand to his face, the scent of David’s blood strong and overpowering his senses. Did his tongue escape his lips and bring the smallest taste back to him? He can't remember telling it to do so, but it must have. And then...

 

"You... you have to go. Please..." he says weakly, doing his best to push Dave away. "I... I'll still pay you for... the month. The year. Just...."

 

Is Hal pushing him away? His slender hand was still on his chest, faint trail of red against the soft fabric. What was going on?

 

The reluctant, trembling lap of a tongue at his wrist only sets David deeper on edge. But Hal, his client, who has paid him for protection , seems on the verge of collapse with guilt and horror, and he isn't about to leave him like that. It wasn't even about the money. It was honor.

 

"Emmerich", he mutters. "Just tell me what you need."

 

Why is David still here? Can't he see what is happening? Can't he tell that he isn't... normal? Safe? _Human..._

 

When was the last time he'd eaten? Actually eaten, not just managed a poor form of subsistence. Hal can’t remember, only knows it had been a long time ago, under _his_ watch.

 

"I... I can't...."

 

He can't manage any other words. Can't process speech at all, ends up being reduced to a bundle of instincts.

 

Still trembling, he brings David's hand to his lips- and drinks.


	2. Chapter 2

David sucks in a deep breath, the sensation of blood rapidly rushing from his veins towards the wet warmth of Emmerich's mouth sudden, resonating inside his ears.

 

Clear as day, he can feel the way it makes him lightheaded, his eyes glazing over by the unexpected spike of pleasure curling through his nerves. Like the first shot of Jack in the morning, making him shiver, and  _ oh _ , as soon as his brain makes the analogy, he forces himself back to awareness. To watch, alert, at what is happening as Hal Emmerich keeps drinking.

 

_ No, not just drinking. He's feeding _

 

And he kind of wants to laugh, because of all the things his old CO had taught him to be on the lookout for, he had thought vampires would be the least likely to ever cross his path.

 

It doesn't take long. A minute, maybe two. Just long enough for  Hal to curb the hunger, regain his senses. The wound closes as his mouth trails slowly from David's wrist, up the length of his palm, until finally his lips are closed around the tip of David's index finger, cleaning the last of the spilled blood from his skin.

 

And all at once it hits him. What he's done. What David has seen. What David  _ knows. _

 

Hal slaps a hand over his mouth, eyes wide, cheeks ever so slightly flushed.

 

"Oh..."  he whispers.  "Oh no..." 

 

He turns to run, but ends up falling to the floor, an unkempt and shaking pile as sobs continue to wrack his body.

 

"I... I'm..."

 

"I'm so sorry."  He manages between gasps.

 

"You... you can go ahead and... “  His eyes, full of tears flicker down to the assortment of knives on the ground. “A-any of those…they'll probably b-be fine. I won’t fight you."

 

"I'm not going to kill you",  David mutters, voice low and rough. He's dizzy. And surprised Hal is so resigned  that he's telling him where to find a weapon, as if  David  didn't carry a whole armory in his own coat.

 

He takes a couple of shaky steps toward  Hal , and then, forcing himself to steady, closes the distance.

 

David has lost count of how many times his instincts have saved his life. And right now, even with the knowledge he has, even with  every warning his old CO  had drilled into him. ..

 

There's no way  Hal’s breakdown hadn't been genuine. Emmerich had begged him to get away, hadn't he?

 

"You didn't mean for this to happen."

 

Why risk a meal otherwise?

 

He grabs Hal and makes him stand up. And looks .

 

Hal can't meet his eyes. Can't look at the face of the man he practically attacked as though he were no better than an animal. The nagging thought in his head,  _ Well you are, aren't you? _ just won’t leave. There's still a smear of David's blood just below his lip. He can smell it, can feel it burning on his skin like  molten iron. But he doesn't dare move to wipe it away, has to let it sit there as proof of what he's done.

 

He's still shaking, can't stop. Couldn't stand at all if not for David's support- even though he's just had the closest thing to a proper meal he's had in years, even though he can feel David's blood singing in his own body. He simply can't accept what's happened, what he swore he'd never do.

 

But if David isn't going to kill him...

 

"Please don't tell anyone”,  he pleads. “I've never... I mean I've tried so hard to..."

 

It's too much to  hope David will stay longer than the time it takes for him to get answers. But maybe he can pay him for his silence.

 

But  as  intently as David is looking at Hal, he can't see a monster in the terrified, regretful boy shaking in front of his eyes, barely able to stand up and crumbling with guilt and self loathing. A look that suited him poorly, and one David knew well.

 

He’d  seen it in the mirror enough times, after all.

 

So he tries then, not very successfully, to convince himself there isn't a healthy dose of  _ spite  _ in his motivations when he makes a choice.

 

"Emmerich. I mean it."

 

It’s neither contempt, nor blood loss affecting his judgement.

 

"Tell me what you need."

 

David knows what he’s doing.

 

Hal's fists ball at his sides, fingers digging deeply into his palms and he tries to focus his thoughts. David had repeated his question, more seriously than before and he didn't know how to respond. He'd spent so much time denying his nature, finding ways around it. To put it into words is somehow vulgar now.

 

But even though he'd spent a lifetime lying to himself, lying to the world- he can't lie to David. Not after what had just happened.

 

"I... I don't eat." He says quietly. "I mean, not food, and... and not human blood either! I make arrangements. Animal blood. It... it's fine."  _ It's not.  _

 

"But just now... when you...." Hal tried not to think about it, tried not to see the scene over and over in his head, red blood standing out in his vision until the rest of the world was grey. "I need blood. Regularly. I get by. But..."

 

"But I want..." He looked up, eyes still tearful.

 

"Animal blood”, states David carefully, gaze trained on Hal. “It just doesn't cut it, right?"

 

He tries to not think how long he had gone, stone cold sober... And how much he had missed the feeling he had just had a taste of.

 

He needs to know. He needs all the details he can get if he's  going to \--

 

"Would someone t urn just by being bitten ?"  A pause,  his voice is more certain now, concealing his own agitation.

 

"Do you know how to stop?"

 

It isn’t about the need singing in his own veins now. It’s not like the first sip of a bottle he'd have to finish. He's better than that, doesn't lose himself, or his hard-earned control anymore. The same way he’s beyond spite.

 

"Drink then."

 

He isn't joking.

 

"It's not the worst thing I've had to do in this job"

 

He  was here to keep this man alive,  wasn’t he ?

 

Hal answers David's questions as quickly as they come and it's hard, though not as difficult as admitting the truth to himself has been. He just… does his best. He knows he must.

 

_ No, turning someone involves a delicate process. Yes, he thinks he knows how to stop, despite not really remembering the last time he had fed from someone alive.  _

 

It’s the way David looks at him that eases him, not just chronicling and cataloguing the information he’s giving. David, genuinely listening to him with something that almost looks like... understanding. Still, Hal knows that has to be impossible, no more than wishful thinking.

 

As though he’s ever dared to put any stock in wishes, or hope for that matter.

 

_ Drink then,  _ David had said.

 

He still isn’t sure he heard the man correctly, but no- David is standing there, firm and sure as though it's not incomprehensible, these things Hal has just said. Not backing off. Giving him a small, minute movement of his head, urging Hal on, baring his neck the slightest bit.

 

And Hal wants to argue.

 

Hal wants to say no.

 

Hal wants to forget the taste of him.

 

But Hal also  _ needs. _

 

And David... for some reason, knows all of this, accepts it as truth, places no fault on him, and simply... offers.

 

He takes a single step closer.

 

"I... I can't," Hal cries softly, reaching out. 

 

"I can't do this." He's whispering now, face pressed against David's neck.

 

He's fought so hard, done his best for so long. If he accepts this... this  _ gift _ , he knows he won't be able to go back to the way things were before.

 

"I... I don't want this..." he repeats, close enough now that the edges of his teeth are just grazing David's skin. 

 

"But... I...I need..."

 

And for the second time that day, the second time in so, so many years. Hal feeds.

 

There's a flash of pain as fangs pierce his skin, and stoic by vocation as he is, David still can't help a gasp, a ragged grunt.

 

But then, Hal drinks, and as his blood rushes through both of them, nourishing and alive, David can't help but arch his neck further, hold the boy in place as the tight feeling of inebriation and need takes over his every nerve. It's not exactly the same, it's drain instead of alcohol thinning the blood inside his veins, but the groggy, pleasant haze of it overcomes him, similar enough and _god, how_ _he had missed it._

 

This,  here is at least as good as he had felt before going dry.

 

And for someone like him, it’s still safer than falling off the wagon.

 

Whispering, he urges Hal on, "Take what you need, kid."

 

Hal's eyes close so slowly,  like he's slipped into some manner of trance. As the world around him grows dark though, he is acutely aware of David's body, as though he can sense the intricate lattice of veins and arteries, making up a pulsing spectre where the man stands. And his heart. He can feel it beating steadily, so strong, and though there had been an instant where it raced, the rhythm soon evened out.

 

Hal is too overwhelmed to think straight, only the faintest of thoughts forming at the edges of his mind. 

 

_ David… He's-- not afraid...  _

 

_ But _ _ I am.  _

 

Still he drinks, needily, like a starving child, small hiccups and whines of pleasure coming from him as he sates his hunger. He's had no practice, makes a bit of a mess, smearing crimson across David's neck and the firm expanse of his shoulders. 

 

David knows he i sn't an altruist, doing this. He has his own reasons, even beyond a pleasure he knows will be short-lived  and is sure to  have consequences. It's a decision  made less carefully than he'd have liked, and yet, he trusts his instincts when they tell him to trust Hal .

 

"Just remember to keep me alive."

 

Standing  on the porch , with his legs about to give out, David knows there isn't much to cling to besides Hal. In between the two of them there's balance, and the irony of it isn't lost on him, no matter how light-headed he might be feeling.

 

God, but he feels good, floating and warm in a way that has nothing to do with the usual feeling of bloodloss he's familiar with. He offers himself, soothes Hal's back with his hands and let's the moment take over, every heartbeat pumping nourishment into the starving boy. 

 

When David speaks it's almost like Hal feels the words, senses the vibration thrumming through David's throat rather than hears them. His eyes struggle to open as he slowly takes account of where he is, what he's doing. 

 

_ “Keep me alive.” _

 

Hal still doesn't understand. Why David is doing this. Why he trusts him, when he's such a despicable creature. He just knows that despite the yearning inside him, the warmth forming in his belly- the first warmth he's felt in years- he cannot betray that trust.

 

He pulls away at last, lapping at David's skin, healing the wound there and taking in the last few droplets clinging to him. Hal can't speak, can barely think, can only emit a soft, inarticulate cry that's somehow both full of thanks and remorse.

 

It's only the unequivocal knowledge of how used he could get to this that prompts David to try and regain his bearings. Even as a final gasp escapes him as Hal licks his wounds closed.

 

It's not Hal who he has to fear.

 

Hal's broken whimper broke a heart David didn't think he had, not anymore. It's... strange, to feel like he understands him. But they can't stick around and dwell on it, and his voice sounds raspy even to him when he  speaks.

 

"We should go inside."

 

It's alright if neither is feeling stable or strong enough. They can make do as long as they lean on each other, move slowly.

 

Hal feels good too, better than he has in such a long time, better perhaps than he's ever felt, but the feeling is overpowering, threatens to overtake his senses. 

 

He's not "full"; after starving for so long he could probably glut himself on David for hours. How had he convinced himself that the cold blood of livestock was enough? It's clear now that whatever he'd gleaned from that was doomed to be insufficient, he'd only succeeded in starving himself by degrees.

 

Only after he has pulled away does he notice the hand on his back, David's entire body twisted into a posture of offering, only just starting to relax as his body reconciles with what's just happened. And there's something about that, about seeing David's flushed face, feeling the warmth of his body against him, as well as a tiny echo of that heat inside himself that overtakes him. 

 

It becomes too much. He loses himself, darkness invading at the corners of his vision, and feels himself falling.

 

"Shit", David mutters, because Hal is slipping from his grasp to fall, and  right now  the ground feels so far away, so thick around his ankles...

 

He catches him and tries to not think about how accustomed he is to functioning like this, weak and dizzy. Spite or not, it’s a little bitter how he knows right then how, truly, there’s probably no one  better suited for this position.

 

But Hal  is  out cold, and that means David still has a job to do. Stumbling, because everything is spinning right in this moment, and yet... the kid must weigh less than 90 pounds under all the thick layers of clothing.  Es pecially considering what he knew now about him.

 

_ Starving. Wasting away. _

 

David is used to lifting greater weights than Hal’s small frame. He carries him, and if his own bedroom is the closest… well, he needs to take it easy, too.

 

As he falls on the bed, surrendering to the demands of his body,  arm falling gracelessly against the sleeping form of his employer, David tries not to think of when he’d started to think of him as “Hal”.


	3. Chapter 3

Hal is used to nightmares. His sleep, when he manages to get it, is often invaded by images pulling at his consciousness, threatening his scant moments of peace. But Hal doesn't dream of flying, or falling. The visions aren't created amalgams of media and imagination.

 

They're memories.

 

He turns in his sleep, and it's the absence of the usual noise of his metal cot that rouses him. Sleep is never this warm, this soft, or this easy.

 

And instantly he realizes why, his face graceless and flattened against the chest of the man who had walked in his door only days ago. He pulls back in horror as much as he able, which merely results in him falling back a few scant inches.

 

_Oh. Oh no. I've killed him._

 

Hal's startled pull has David awake and alert half a second later. On instinct, he grabs at his ward so he doesn't fall away way before last night’s events catch up inside his own mind.

 

.... Oh.

 

The hand grabbing him comes as a complete shock, Hal sure that he'd left David dead on the floor, despite the fact that a fierce heat was still pouring off of the man's body. Meanwhile David lets him go, slowly and without noticing the other man’s commotion, and... frankly, too busy doing a quick self-check.

 

He's hungover, alright. Or at least, weakened and thirsty - pulse points all moved up somewhere between his temples, throbbing.

 

So, last night. That happened. Fine.

 

"You alright?" He had to get his tongue unstuck from the roof of his mouth to speak, but, all things considered... Could've been worse.

 

The voice Hal hears is exhausted, weary, or at least he thinks it is, but he's too stunned by the question to make a proper assessment. He'd attacked David, come at him with literal fangs bared, and he was lying here now asking if he was "alright"?

 

"I..." If he's honest, aside from the guilt twisting in the pit of his stomach, he feels better than he has in years. Maybe not "good", but that's not a state he's deserving of anyway. He nods, panic still clear on his face.

 

"Why?" Is all he can say.

 

And maybe it's laconic but David isn’t up to offer much more right now, "Just a hunch."

 

Slowly, he sits up and looks around once more. "You don't actually have a problem with the light, do you?"

 

Because the heavy curtains are closed, and yet there's a ray of morning entering through the gaps, not touching any of them. And he doesn't want to risk Hal moving and turning into ashes.

 

Hal looks bleary-eyed at the tiny stream of light coming into the room. "It just... makes me tired," he says quietly. "Most things do."

 

He looks back to David, who is just looking at him with a scrutiny that is intense, but not disgusted. _Why?_ He screams inside his head.

 

His only answer from David is an equally hermetic:

 

"Let me get some food in me, this time. Then we'll talk."

 

Because they are going to do this. They will continue doing this. That means not falling prey to anemia falls to him.

 

What can Hal do but agree? He withdraws as quickly as he is able, pulling his legs back against his body, wrapping his arms around his thin frame as though David might regain his senses at any moment and lash out at him. Which would make sense, honestly, given what he'd just done, that he'd lied so blatantly to the man.

 

He nods, otherwise remaining completely still on the bed. How had they come to be there? He couldn't remember. Just another thing that didn't make sense.

 

"May I... stay here?" He says quietly, unsure if he can go back into the house just yet. Memories still so strong, and yet not unpleasant, a realization that terrifies him.

 

There's such a blatant, screaming vulnerability in every gesture Hal makes, and David doesn't know what that's making him feel. There's a part of him that, indeed, wants to either grab at him and push him away, or pull him towards him, just so he doesn’t have to watch him tremble, so quietly terrified. He doesn't know what to do, but he moves closer on an urge.

 

Hal’s shoulders tense instinctively as David draws near, preparing for the comeuppance that is finally being paid out to him. And then, it never comes. It simply doesn't happen. And he's more confused than ever.

 

Tentatively, David puts an arm around him, looking to give him reassuring contact in one of the few ways he knows how.

 

"I don't mind if you stay", he offers.

 

What is he doing? Besides improvising, making decisions upon decisions with little base to them, playing by ear.

 

"Hal...", he starts again, and shuts up. Because David can barely deal with himself right now, and doesn't know the right thing to say.

 

Quiet and still, Hal tries to work through what’s happening. No rejection. Instead, David is holding him? Trying his best to comfort him, even. Saying his name and somehow fitting more compassion into a single syllable than Hal has ever known in his entire life.

 

_He's... he's trying so hard on your behalf. Why? Showing mercy to you like this? Kindness even?_

 

"I'm sorry," he whispers again, apologizing again for what he's done, for his whole unnatural existence. "Please... go. I'll be..." Not fine, not alright but... "...here."

 

It's for the best that he has a few minutes alone. Because if David wants to talk (and whatever David wants Hal will absolutely make sure he gets) then he's going to need to figure out what to say.

 

There's not much to do beyond taking care of the practical issues at hand. David's good at being practical. Nodding, he lets go to stand up and stretch, and if there's any visible signal of the rush of blood inside his own head, threatening to make him sway, he does his utmost best to not show it.

 

He gets out, kitchen in his mind, and there’s something in _whatever just transpired_ that brings a layer of novelty to the house, resonating in the silence. Makes David feel a foreigner in it all over again, unbelonging and alert.

 

It’s no matter if he allows his gaze to linger on the hallway in passing, bringing memories of a surely bloodstained entryway.

 

He retrieves one of the knives from last night, cleans it and slices a loaf of bread and what little cold cuts are left in the cupboards. Never mind his queasy stomach - he needs to eat. How much blood had he lost, no, _given away_?

 

Questions and doubts can wait. Taking care of himself, cannot.

  


* * *

 

 

Hal sits completely still aside from the occasional twitch of fingers at his side. He tries to figure out exactly what he should say, but every explanation dies before becoming fully formed in his mind.

 

_I am a vampire and..._

 

_I am a vampire and what?_

 

_I am a vampire and here is a lot of money please keep it a secret? I am a vampire and it would be great if you didn't kill me, but if you want to I absolutely understand?_

 

Still, David didn't _seem_ angry. More curious than anything, as if Hal's omission had only inconvenienced him by keeping him from performing his job, nothing more.

 

The problem is, he knows so little himself, only what he's been told, and over the years he's come to suspect that much of that information is dubious at best.

 

He runs the tip of his tongue along the edges of his teeth, the memory of David still fresh on his lips.

 

_Forget it. It won't happen again._

 

* * *

 

As his stomach starts to settle--

 

David knows his body, he has to. Keeps it clean, like the well oiled weapon it is. He finds himself surprised by the ease and speed at which he's recovering. By the time he's done eating (he had been starving after all, clearing out every cupboard in the kitchen), his headache has settled, and the dizziness is mostly gone. Still, it's not the most supernatural thing he had experienced since he’d arrived.

 

No matter how he loathed remembering his old CO’s warnings, there was no way to avoid it. He’d been right about one thing at least. Vampires did exist.

 

David doesn't fancy himself a particularly compassionate man, but he could understand things like guilt and desperation and sheer hunger . Aching for something you swore you wouldn't touch or drink or take, and being terrified of slipping.

 

_There's a difference. He needed the blood to survive. The whiskey only kept you sane for a little while._

 

He cleans up and goes back to the room.

 

* * *

 

 

The twitching in Hal's fingers spreads to his hands despite his desperate efforts to calm himself. He had to hold himself together long enough to answer David's questions, let him come to whatever decision he felt was best and follow through with it.

 

When the door opens he looks up suddenly, half expecting to see that David has changed his mind, has a weapon pointed at him. Or perhaps he'd decided to leave and call for backup. But no, he's alone, the same look of determination on his face and if Hal lets his imagination run away with him, perhaps something like empathy?

 

But before David can get started with his line of questioning, Hal has one of his own.

 

"Did... did I hurt you?"

 

When was the last time David had heard words like those? So sincere, so fearful?

 

Even without the words themselves, he can see how anxiety had continued to make a wreck of Hal in his absence.  And it's not exactly pity, what softens his voice as he answers:

 

"No, you didn't."

 

"I... I've never... _you know_ not on a living person. And... when... when I saw you lying there I just knew for certain I'd..."

 

He leans his head forward, trying to hide the tears silently forming in his eyes, but knows it's useless. David surely knows they're there, just as Hal has become so very aware of the man's presence at his side.

 

 

David’s done worse to himself, and there had been no malice in Hal’s actions last night. Just desperation. He sits in the bed by him, and sighs:

 

"I'm not going anywhere, unless you'd rather break the contract." A pause and then: "Something like your condition doesn't make it void for me."

 

Holed up in here, Hal has been barely living. Terrified of hurting anyone. _'Not the worst thing I've done on the job'_ , David had said, and that was true. Compared to everyone else he’d known... at least he could believe Hal Emmerich was worth protecting.

 

A deep sigh of relief, faintly broken by the shuddering of his body comes from Hal. David speaks of Hal's "condition". As though he was just a normal person with a disease or disability, not some inhuman creature. Exactly what kind of life had David lived that had made him so prepared to accept the unimaginable?

   
"Are... are you sure?" Hal asks, not daring to believe the words, but wanting so desperately to trust the man.

 

It's... awkward. How utterly unprepared David is to deal with emotional breakdowns like these. On the other hand, he can't stay there and do nothing, can he?

 

"I don't say things just to be pleasant", he states. This particular vampire is nothing like David had been told. He puts a hand on Hal's shoulder.

 

"What do you want, then?"

 

And Hal, he tries, tries so hard not to lean into David's hand, to conceal the faint, surprised sound of pleasure at the contact, something inside him resonating with the nearness of the man.

 

 _‘Try... try not to think about that.’_ He thinks to himself, only able to draw unfortunate conclusions of what that might mean.

 

"I... I want..." he starts quietly, unsure of what to say before finally allowing the truth to spill from him. "I want to rid myself of this. I want to find a cure. That's what my research is all about, but I've started to think it's impossible." He manages to calm down slightly, speaking about things as a project he was working on made it easier, as though the subject of his experiments wasn't himself.

 

"And..." He turns to look back at David, "I really want you to stay. The... threats against my life, I was telling the truth about that... as you can probably imagine." He closes his eyes and swallows hard.

 

"But that... that's all I want. I swear. I- I won't..." He has to promise, doesn't he? That he'll do his best to forget the taste of David's blood. That he will ignore the part of him that cries out for it. That he will return to his former diet, though he knows it was sure to be even less fulfilling than before.

 

"I can't ask any more of you." Hal whispers.

 

There’s a moment where silence hangs, a heavy veil weighing down over them, between them.

 

"I told you yesterday”, says David. “I don't mind that, either."

 

It isn’t concern that prompts him to continue. Just professionalism,"You're dying, aren’t you?"

 

He takes Hal's wrist in his hand. There’s nothing in him betraying the strength of the vampires David had always heard of. Just thin frailty his fingers can close around with ease.

 

"Your diet is killing you. It’s plain to see" David strokes Hal’s pulse point with a finger, not expecting to find any - It surprises him, when he feels an extremely slow, faint beat. Is this his blood from last night? "I know you didn't hire me to feed on me. Last night was an unexpected crisis."

 

Willing to experiment on himself and dwell in isolation. David had never met someone so desperate to not cause harm before Hal. It was _rare_ , and it was... Compelling.

 

"I made the offering out of my own free will. I stand by it."

 

Hal can’'t stop the tears from trailing down his cheeks, the faintest hint of borrowed blood rushing to his face. Such things were usually kept private, but well, he's already been completely exposed, hasn't he?

 

How is it that David can claim to know these things with such certainty? He is right, of course. Hal had never had any intention of feeding from him, would never have sought out protection if he'd imagined such a thing would happen. But David has no reason to assume this. Normal humans would always believe the worst, and then act upon it.

 

_At least that's what ‘he’ told you._

 

"You... would do that... for something like me?" Not _someone_ , Hal reminds himself over and over. "I'm sorry... I don't mean to call your honor into question, I just never thought I'd meet someone who would..."

 

"I'm not strong." He adds abruptly, voice evening out, but still quiet. "Or fast. Can't turn into bats or summon wolves or... or any of that. There's... no benefit at all except the lifespan... well... if you can even call it that..." His words faltered as he looked back up, tired eyes still wet with tears.

 

"Keep talking", David prompts, because the more Hal talks, the more complete the picture he can form. It only confirms his impressions, his hunches about his ward.

 

Some _thing_ . Not _someone_ , Hal had said. It doesn’t go unnoticed.

 

"Don't fancy myself like someone who knows much about human nature, no. But things like cruelty and deceit, those I know well. I've seen war, and a lot of senseless killing in my time, for obedience or profit."

 

"So by now - those are things I can recognize in others. Quickly. And it’s kept me alive up ‘til now.”

 

 _‘But you're different’_ , he doesn't say.

 

"I'm sorry for lying to you," Hal replies quickly, automatically zeroing in on the mention of deceit. "It won't happen again."

 

He takes a deep breath, gathers his thoughts. "I... I started by looking at fiction. I didn't know where else to look. But it's like everything is wrong, fantasies really. I've never even met another aside from..." Hal looks uncertain. "It runs in the family."  

 

"But I'm the only one left. As far as I know. L-like I said, there are people out there who..." His shoulders tremble once again.

 

"Who hunt people like you for a living", David finished for him.

 

_‘I may know a few.’_

 

"You know", he confides, "I thought I was against people like the Yard. All in all, this isn’t so bad."

 

A tiny, sad laugh comes from Hal. "Not so bad?" What did that even mean? That he didn't consider the hunters much of a threat? Or that he wouldn't lose too much sleep if he failed at his job? "I'd hate to know what your previous jobs were like."

 

"Which is just fine. I don't like remembering them either", David answers just as promptly. Not maliciously, or resentful towards Hal . Those... are just memories he'd rather bury.

 

Or drown.

 

The hunters, on the other hand... if they are anything like he remembered, then he'll know how to deal with them.

 

"About the feedings", he starts, not wanting to allow himself to dwell on it just yet. "As far as I know, there’s a maximum amount of blood someone can lose, until it becomes dangerous. There’s also physical weakness to follow, and the recovery time it demands."

 

"I feel alright, but it’s better to make sure. Your experiments have probably touched on all this. Tell me if there's a way to speed up the healing."

 

Hal is reluctant to answer, only making an uncertain sound of concentration.

 

"I haven't spent much time researching how to eat more. " He answers. "More of the reverse, actually. I haven't had much luck isolating a specific compound in human blood that I need. You know, something that isn't in cows or pigs that I could try to procure some other way."

 

He hangs his head. "Some kind of scientist I am. I haven't been able to come to a single useful conclusion. Just one failure after another."

 

"I've been drinking every two weeks. Sometimes as much as 500 ml, but usually I can't drink nearly that much before it's too..." His lips turns slightly in distaste. "It helps a bit if I warm it, not much though."

 

He gives David a pained look. "This... is disgusting, isn't it?"

 

"No", he replies, his tone completely natural, not a hint of disgust. "It's not. It's just feeding."

 

He stretches, making his sore muscles crack. He'd slept in his coat and while wearing the holsters no less. Standing up, he goes to take them off, leaves the guns on the small desk by the window, another in the drawer. "Should start researching that then, doc. So we can schedule your meals better."

 

"Schedule?" Hal repeats, the suggestion startling him. He had barely begun to imagine the possibility that David would let him feed again. The notion that it could become a regular occurrence makes logical sense, but is still anathema to his way of thinking.

 

David sits down again, ignoring the twitch of his fingers. Normally, he'd be smoking or cleaning his guns - Turning something over in his hands helps him think. But he doesn't want to scare Hal Emmerich further with either nervous habit.

 

He makes a decision. "Feed once more, tonight. So you can be in a better shape to do all of that. Or I won't be able to keep up with you and, trust me. I don't like falling behind in my duties. Whatever they are."

 

Hal had known that David was likely to carry ‘tools of the trade’ on him, but actually seeing the glint of metal still puts him on edge.

 

_How else do you expect him to do his job?_

 

He whimpers at the mention of a second feeding that night. Gnawing hunger still at the core of him, it's the ease with which David offers that truly shakes him. The way the notion of feeding has folded effortlessly into his roster of duties, as if it were no more than a perimeter sweep or target practice.

 

He can barely answer, images of the night before creeping unbidden into his mind, David, less than a hair's breadth away. The warm, steady flow of literal lifeblood given willingly into his desperate mouth. The idea that it could... _would_ happen again...

 

Hal bites his lip, stifling a soft moan. Suddenly, his own hands are so much more interesting to fidget with.

 

David wouldn’t be able to deny he had enjoyed the experience, so it’s all the better if Hal doesn’t inquire further. He wonders, is it as pleasurable for the drinker as for the host? That sound Hal had made-- He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. He can't ignore the allure of the image blooming in his own mind, either. There’s an attraction, beyond Hal's honesty and the frailty he wore that had compelled him to stay in the first place. Greater even than the taste of drunkenness that had sent his head spinning, after resisting the craving for so long.

 

_So you do remember you aren't a good man after all._

 

"Tonight", he repeats, and stands up again, pacing around the room like a caged wolf.

 

"I need to bring my luggage. Securing the house had been the priority til now, so I haven’t really _moved in._ There’s also no more food left in the pantry.” Looking at Hal, David knows he isn't betraying his own interest in his expression. He's an expert at repressing any kind of show of emotions, another well-learned lesson. "Ten PM. Meet me here, unless you have a better idea."

 

Allowing himself a small grin, "The porch isn't really a good place."

 

There had been an instant change in David's demeanor, tone of plain understanding shifting into professional severity, and it catches Hal off guard- like going down a staircase and missing the final step. Had he been leaning into David's words so dependently?

 

But there had also been a small smile, a joke even, and Hal manages to return the gesture with one of his own.

 

"Ten o'clock then," he confirms. David’s suggestion of using his quarters takes him by surprised but he agrees. He doesn't want either of them to end up on the floor again, and it's probably best if David can end the night in his own room. Just in case.

 

"I'll see what I can learn while you're gone," Hal offers, unsure if he'll be able to focus with the prospect of another meal teasing him over the course of the day.

 

"And David?" he adds, still unable to fully believe what he'd been promised. "If... if you decide... If you don't come back. I will understand."

 

David understands Hal's hesitance, his lack of confidence though it's tiring as well. But this is good; it pulls him right out of the mood he had been falling into. He needs to behave like a professional.

 

"Listen, doctor", he says, with a gesture for Hal to look at him. It’s not impatient - just serious. "I don't own anything worth a penny, except my own word. I've already given it to you. I’m not going to go back on it. Understand?"

 

He puts a hand in Hal’s shoulder again, for good measure. Small things, comforting things. David couldn't share food or tobacco with him, so a light touch it was.

 

... Damn, he was going to have to quit, wasn't he? To keep from thinning his blood, like the old wives said?

 

Hal meets David's eyes. They're blue and clear and stare at him without a trace of evasion. He feels a surge of guilt, not for the nature over which he has no control, but for doubting a man who has been so direct and honest with him from the moment they met. He tries to memorize the look David is giving, to tie it to this moment so that the next time he is overcome with doubt he can remember it exactly.

 

He nods once, feigning certainty in the hopes that his feelings will follow. "I understand."

 

The hand on his shoulder is solid and sure, and it's that, more than even David's words that comforts him. He doesn't realize it until it's already happened, heart in his throat, familiar scent suddenly close, arms wrapping as tightly as their faint strength can manage around David's frame.

 

"Thank you."

 

David hadn’t been expecting the hug.

 

So it's a couple of seconds before he reacts. Hesitating (though hadn't they been even closer last night?), he reaches around Hal to return it. It's far more physical intimacy he's used to. In all honesty, David doesn't know much of tender gestures outside of the bedroom, and even those could be exhausting. They were always more akin to routine procedures or transactions rather than comfort freely given.

 

But he has been touch-starved too.

 

Hal is so thin, David realizes. He remembers how little he weighed last night, even through the blood loss, and now he can feel the bony angles and planes of Hal's body underneath his vest and coat.

 

He remains in the embrace until the silence thickens again... and a little beyond that as well. "It's alright", he says. Because he doesn't know what else to add.

 

Hal pulls back, resumes his huddled position on the bed, but it's less out of fear than a desire to preserve the sense of contact and heat that he's stolen.

 

"Ten o'clock then," he says, voice sounding as though he's repeating a mantra for himself.

 

"It's a promise", Dave confirms, and offers him a small, tight smile.

 

Retrieving one of the holsters, he slips a small-calibered gun in and steps outside.

 

The sun is high enough in the streets to let him know how late in the afternoon it is even without looking at his pocket watch, and he loses no time before looking for a carriage to take him back to the city. Almost a four-hours trip, and the place he had lived in, his own particular safehouse, isn't anything beyond a tightly secured hovel on the outskirts of London - A room above a shop, bare but for the essentials.

 

He hadn't been lying, when he had said he didn't own much. But it has always been better that way. Less baggage trailing behind him, burdening his movements.

 

The stop at market and the grocers’, on the way back, takes far less time in comparison. Watching the cobblestone passing under his window, the rhythmical clop-clop of the horses is a good enough reminder of how he’s going to have to get a beast of his own, now that he’s about to live in a manor secluded from the _nearest_ downtown.

 

The prospect brings a genuine smile out of him.

 

* * *

 

 

Hal remains still on the bed, gazing into space as the conversation they shared plays over and over again in his mind. It seems impossible to his way of thinking, but he forces the voice that tells him to be wary into silence. It sounds like any number of the many warnings he had been given, urging him to avoid the world of men at all costs. A world he was never meant to be a part of.

 

_But no, David can be trusted. He's proven that. And in a few hours, he'll return and then..._

 

He suddenly realizes that he's alone in David's room. The sooner he starts thinking of it as a private space, one that is no longer his to invade, the better. For the time being, he retreats to his workshop, pulls out papers and notes but cannot focus on them, despite his earlier promise. The words and numbers blur together and he's only able to think of David's return.

 

In the end he simply lies on the plain cot in the corner of the room, arms wrapped around himself as he stares blankly at the wall. He tells himself that he doesn't need what David is offering, but he would be foolish not to take what is being willingly offered. He tells himself that the less energy he has to spend on survival, the more he can spend on his work. He tells himself he isn't merely waiting for David’s return.

 

For brief seconds at a time, he almost believes it.

  



	4. Chapter 4

By 8 PM, David is stepping outside of the carriage, just across the Emmerich Manor’s grounds. His sparse belongings are all stuffed in a single suitcase secured shut with ropes, and there’s a carpet bag packed with enough edibles to make a dent in the void of the food cabinets.  He had had a late lunch earlier, but  he knows full well he's going to need proper nourishment to perform as needed.

 

Procuring the keys Hal had given him, he gets his cargo inside the manor and starts putting everything in its place.  It’s then that  he notices Hal isn't around despite it being well past sunset - and that prompts another security sweep around the house, David with his gun drawn and alert to any sign that might warn of a possible intruder.  Once he makes sure the ground floor is clear, and takes Hal's distaste for heights into consideration, the underground lab is the second place he goes.

 

Opening the door, he can't help but squint as he peers inside. Hal’s laboratory is dimly lit, and David hasn’t had a reason to linger inside before. He’s greeted by a mixture of what looks like extremely old alchemical gear, and recognizes a still and what looks like a kiln; along with state-of-the-art medical machines. There’s microscopes and bunsen burners and beakers of every size, and the refrigerator unit too, same as the other night - though the drafty, wintery chill of the room that makes David adjust his coat as he enters leads him to think it’s a moot point to have the latter.

 

He catches sight of Hal on a secluded corner, lying down on a cot bed with the thinnest mattress he has seen outside of an army warehouse.

 

" _ That - _ can't possibly be comfortable", David says, putting away his gun.

 

The sound of David's voice startles Hal and he turns rapidly, spilling out onto the floor.

 

"Ah," he exclaims quietly, coming in contact with the cold tile. He looks up, eyes red with exhaustion but suddenly full of relief at the sight of him. "I... I wouldn't know. It doesn't seem to make much of a difference. I'm... never really comfortable."

 

_ ‘You were this morning’,  _ he remembers.

 

He pulls himself up, using the cot as a support until he manages to stand.

 

"It’s a matter of efficiency. This way I'm close to my work. So I waste less time."

 

"In all honesty - it looks like just another way to punish yourself", David states in return. Hal seems to be doing alright on standing up all on his own, but he makes a note to make more noise next time  to avoid startling him again . David knows precisely how silently he can move, and his employer isn't used to having company around.

 

There’s a pause as he cracks his neck, and considers a way to continue before his harsh judgement kills all conversation , before speaking again. "Anyway. I'll go upstairs. Brought my stuff and... I’ll be cooking some dinner." David thinks of the suitcase upstairs, of warm food and places less damnably icy and silent than this basement where he can almost hear his voice echoing and watch the steam of his words. "You're invited to join me if you like."

 

Meanwhile,  Hal is still at a loss for words.  _ Punishment. _ .. that's something exacted upon those who have done something wrong. But this. The way he exists, it's just the way things are. The way they have to be.

 

Isn't it?

 

Hal looks around hesitantly, knowing he won't be getting any more work done, concentration fleeting at best. The offer of company is strange but he nods quickly, eager to accept before David can reconsider.

 

_ He doesn't think it's strange? For me to simply watch him eat? Before... _

 

"I'll... clean up here first and join you upstairs."

 

He doesn’t want to think about it. Not just yet.

 

David grunts in agreement and goes.

 

Getting the kitchen into a usable state had been actual  _ work _ . It’s a good idea to keep it clean, especially considering how easily dust tends to claim it as soon as David turns a blind eye.  He gives it a thorough wiping before starting to prepare his food. Even then, Hal isn’t on his way up just yet. 

 

It suddenly dawns on him that Hal had been pretending to enjoy his cooking on those previous nights.  Though a vampire’s tongue could perceive the most minute differences when it came to blood and its components, even the most heartiest dish would end up tasting stale as sawdust to one without the palate for human food.

 

_ ‘A pity he can't eat a damn thing, not even for the taste of it’,  _ he thinks, clicking his tongue. David, on the other hand, can eat basically anything, so long as it isn't completely spoiled or a rock - for the sake of survival. But in less dire situations, he knows he can make a more than acceptable dish when provided with the proper time and tools.

 

David rather enjoys having use of both now at the manor, and he's used to eating alone, but it feels absurd to cook for one when he isn’t on his own anymore, especially considering the tantalizing smell of his stew as he adds vegetables and stock to the pot.

 

If the week Hal had spent going through the motions of dinner didn’t count, then it had been years since the last time he had cooked for someone else. 

 

It’s strange to realize  _ that _ is another thing he had missed from cohabiting with others.

 

* * *

 

 

Hal takes his time, organizes his notes and slips them back into their folders. He checks on the refrigeration units, staring at the frigid and lifeless vials of animal's blood stored within, now less appealing than ever. He wants nothing more than to open them all up over the drain, be rid of them once and for all- but still can't bring himself to sever the tie. There's still plenty of time for something to go wrong.

 

Besides, without them he'll have nothing else to base his research on.

 

He flushes out the sink, wipes it down although he's already done so today. An unsettling and nervous energy is coursing through him and he's desperate to find an outlet. For the first time he begins to notice that his lab is terribly cold.

 

Slowly, he makes his way up the stairs. His eyes close as he passes the kitchen, and tries to ignore the smell of David cooking, willing himself not to think about how it isn't the scent of the man's  _ dinner _ that is wafting towards him.

 

Without a sound, Hal takes a seat at the table and waits.

 

It's only by chance that David sees Hal sitting at the dining room table in the dark while looking for his own place to sit down to eat, or even a chair to drag to the kitchen. 

 

He blinks. "What are you doing here like this?"

 

What is Hal trying to prove?

 

David sighs, pats Hal's shoulder. "I'll bring my plate here, unless you’d rather be alone."

 

"N-no! I... It's a little hard for me to be near… Every time I see you with a knife in your hand, I  remember that night. And I don't like the idea of... of losing control."

 

He looks up at David, who is somehow still so damn understanding, like this is no different from any other job he's had before. 

 

"It scares me”, Hal finishes softly.

 

A scared monster, then?  Afraid of losing control?  _ That makes two of us _ , David doesn't say.

 

"You’ve done well since then,” he offers instead. "But I understand."

 

He goes to get his plate and sits by Hal's side instead of on the opposite extreme of the opulent dining room table. 

 

David continues to surprise Hal. The brief contact of a hand on his shoulder. The ease with which he slips into the seat beside him. The plain and simple conversation as though he was talking to a real person.

 

Hal's hands are jammed firmly down into his lap as the silence grows between them.

 

_ Just.... talk about something. Anything. Like a normal human being. And don't waste time sitting here arguing that you aren't one, just pretend for this one meal. _

 

David and silence have been long-time companions, it's something that normally comforts him. Silence means nobody's near enough to slit his throat while he lowers his guard, but it suffocates them both now. A thick blanket drowning the fire below.

 

"What did you make?" Hal asks at last.

 

"Beef stew", David answers. After realizing Hal has probably never had it he adds, "It's a hearty dish. Good for this weather."

 

He takes a moment to think of how to describe it as he continues, "The stock is thick - warms you from the inside out. And the meat in it is solid, yet tender. Marbled with fat, so it's juicy." Another pause and... "There are onions, potatoes, and carrots. The carrots make it kinda... sweet, too."

 

He can't quite put a finger on why he feels like he’s talked far too much, like it was something to be ashamed of.

 

Hal’s eyes close and he begins to breath deeply, taking in the careful description David is giving him, doing his best to imagine the flavors he's describing. He understands textures, thinks back to the difference warming the animal blood had made in the past. It had made it more palatable, though never giving him anything like the satisfaction he can hear in David's voice now.

 

And sweetness? He thinks he understands that... now, at any rate.

 

He opens his eyes and gives David an uncertain look.

 

"I've been alone for a long time";  David says in the end, aware of the awkward pause . "Had to learn to take care of myself, or my options were more or less beef jerky and porridge every day. Life is harsh enough to just get by with bad food."

 

"Are… are you making fun of me?" Hal asks, only a little wounded. But perhaps David’s words are less of an admonishment and more of an explanation. "I've been alone as well," he said at last. "But as far as ‘taking care’... it’s been a difficult lesson to learn.”

 

David realizes only now how those last words of his could have been taken. He says nothing, even as Hal adds new meaning to what he already knows.

 

_ ‘Fun’, huh. _

 

The quietness is at odds with his rough voice, "No. No, I wasn't mocking you."

 

He's forgetting himself again. He isn't Hal Emmerich's friend - he's his bodyguard and there's already a whole trainwreck made of blurry boundaries between the both of them, when it’s been barely a week since his arrival. 

 

He just keeps on eating his stew and says nothing more.

 

Although Hal lives every day of his life in a state of perpetual freeze, he's never felt it so acutely as he does now, with David shutting down his attempt at conversation. It's pointless to ask if he's done something wrong. Of course he has. He himself is wrong just by existing.

 

"I'm sorry." He says again. He's lost track of how many times he's apologized, as if mere words could make up for his endless transgressions. It's probably unsettling, to try and feed yourself with the unpleasant knowledge that you yourself will soon be a meal for another. And to have a reminder of that fact literally sitting next to you...

 

"Perhaps… this was a bad idea. I'll let you eat in peace." Hal pushes his chair back and unsteadily begins to stand.

 

"Don't mind you staying, doctor", David clarifies. There's a minefield made of Hal Emmerich's insecurities, and he's barely learning to navigate it. He needs to remember he isn't his friend. But he also needs to avoid setting them off at every turn.

 

"Go if you want to. But if you’d rather stay... don't leave on my behalf."

 

Hal stalls, half risen out of his chair and can barely comprehend the command. If he wants to? Why should what he wants matter at all? 

 

"You keep calling me that." He says, returning to his seat. "But... I'm not. I mean not really. It's not as though I've ever formally studied at an institution to earn it."

 

It’s true enough, but he is intelligent and well read. And though he hasn't spent much time around other people, he understands. It's a title. Not a name.

 

It creates distance.

 

"You said you've been alone too”, David asks, all of a sudden. His voice remains the same. It's the speech pattern that has changed, a little more formal, but less harsh. “How long has it been?"

 

"Maybe...twenty...two...years?" Hal guesses. It had happened so suddenly and he had been too young to be fully aware of the outside world to care much about dates. Even now his days and nights blend together as he spends weeks on end in his lab, rarely coming up to note the passage of time. 

 

That would have to change, wouldn't it? David has mentioned schedules and regularity. And with human needs would come a human's tendency to follow the rhythm set by the sun. 

 

“Ah”, David mutters, weighing this information he has just gotten, playing with his spoon.

 

So Hal is actually older than he looks, then. But he files that part away for later inquiry. Right now what he can't help but focus on is the sheer number. Twenty two years alone like this? Who had left someone like Hal alone for so long? To the point he felt he deserved it? No matter how much he feared the nature of his condition, there must have been a better way. As much of a loner as David is, by circumstances as much as choice, he can't imagine anyone spending their lives holed up with no contact for so long.

 

He had lasted six years, and even then he had been surrounded by dogs half the time, and stumbling drunk the other half.

 

"Is there something else you'd prefer to be called?” he offers at last.

 

It's not like David wants to hurt Hal with the distance. It's just--  _ necessary _ , for this to function as the working relationship they need. And he isn't sure how to convey the point. Hal is probably going to blame himself again, and David just can't keep on reassuring him forever. He isn't skilled enough in that field.

 

This, it dawns on him, is the kind of conversation they should have had right at the beginning. But then again, he had never had a client like this one.

 

David is aware of how he’s coming and going like a swing. Getting too close and then recoiling. He tries to assuage himself, thinking that some adjustment is normal considering he didn’t have all the details before. How this isn’t the kind of bodyguarding he’s used to.

 

How to Hal, David is a person. Not a war hound or a guard dog.

 

Hal takes him out of that train of thought, hesitant and skittish.  "Could you... call me H-Hal?" Maybe he’ll feel less awkward about having another person in the house if he feels more like a person himself.

 

It’s informal, David thinks. But perhaps, also easier for both of them.

 

"Alright then. Hal."

 

If the tone of his voice comes softer, warmer than he should-- he can ignore it. Just this once.

 

Hal knows it's stupid. Such a small thing. He's asked to be called by his name and David is willing to comply. There's no reason for him to smile as though it is some kind of grand sweeping gesture.

 

"Thank you," he says, absolutely denying himself the right to cry.

 

How long has it been since he's heard his name spoken with any amount of care?

 

"Is... it alright to continue calling you David?" If he was content to simply address Hal by a title he hadn't even earned, perhaps he himself would prefer the same consideration. "I should have asked. Do you prefer Mr. Sears or..."

 

"Hn. ‘Mr. Sears’ sounds a bit formal if I'm calling you by your given name", David says, after giving it a second or two of thought. He takes a spoonful of stew, lets it warm his bones from within like heat of a blazing hearth.

 

_ Or being fed upon. That had felt warm too, hadn’t it? _

 

"David’s alright."

 

David. As simple as that. The frankness suits him somehow, though Hal knows he hasn’t any real information on which to judge him.

 

_ But then you do, don't you. You’ve already learned everything worth knowing. He’s been upfront and honest, unlike you. _

 

"David then." He echoes, satisfied with the way it sounds.

 

He stands again, this time with more resolution. "I... I'll let you finish. I should probably go, get cleaned up myself."

 

It was drawing nearer to their assigned time, and Hal doesn't know that he can possibly make the experience any less horrific for David, but he desperately wants to try.

 

"Suit yourself", David says, not unkindly. He’s just surprised Hal has decided to leave after all.

 

_ Shouldn’t you prepare for your 'date' anyway? _

 

Hal goes away. David finishes his stew, thinking about the flavors and textures all over again, unable to  _ not  _ take note of them all now that he's described them out loud and in detail.

 

Tasks like doing the dishes and washing himself are just formalities.  He's glad to be finally out of the suit, just in loose pants and a worn nightshirt as he lies in what has been his bed for the last week, still adjusting to the new space and its comforts . There’s no need to stay dressed-up or make things more elaborate than they are.

 

He tries to ignore the spike of expectation hastening his heartbeat. This is work, after all.

 

* * *

 

 

Hal stands in the hallway, shifting his slight weight from one foot to the other as he waits just outside David's door. In this moment he can't help but imagine David on the other side, sitting at the desk or lying on his bed.

 

_ He'll lie down. Wait for you to come to him. He'll let you take your time. Allow you to become as sure as he is. _

 

A slow shudder builds at his core before spreading throughout his body.

 

The hand that knocks on the door is shaking.

 

"Come in", David says. He's as ready as he can be.

 

Keeping Hal waiting will only worsen his anxiety, and David’s own chagrin at the anticipation that's been building up despite himself.

 

He sits down and waits for his charge to enter.

 

Hal slips through the door, closing it gently, but his hands linger on the handle behind his back. He tells himself over and over not to ask the questions that are on his mind. If he wonders aloud if it's "really alright" David will surely grow annoyed. He might even reconsider the arrangement altogether, and where would that leave him?

 

And right now, he knows he can't turn back. Can't return to the hollow subsistence he's endured for years. Not when he can have... David.

 

So it is with no small amount of difficulty that he pulls his hand free, takes a few steps closer.

 

This is about to happen. No use in getting even more nervous before it does.

 

Watching him intently, Dave realizes  Hal looks... scared. And yet there’s a glimmer of…  yearning. There's a comparison his mind insists on making and he pushes it down, willfuly ignoring it. Repressing the sudden need to bite his lip as Hal's lithe, pale figure draws closer.

 

_ Boundaries. Remember. _

 

"Come here", he says. No bite at all, not really impatient.

 

_ You promised to keep him alive. It’s just another side of your job. _

 

Softly, he speaks again. "It's going to be ok, Hal."

 

It's alien to Hal, to have someone understand his fears and acknowledge them. To have a man like David treat him as someone worth protecting, knowing all that he knows. And to bother with trying to make him, _ him _ feel comfortable about it all.

 

"I'll be careful," he promises, taking a seat next to him on the bed. His hand creeps up to rest on the toned flesh of David's arm and Hal allows himself a single brush of his fingers, sensing the very ebb and flow of life just beneath them.

 

David takes a breath. It's cliché to say he had been holding it, but Hal's fingers are cold and hesitant, and it's hard to pretend he doesn't want this to happen.

 

"I trust that you will", he says. He makes a little gesture with his head, a small encouragement, before bowing his neck to the side, exposing his jugular. Offering himself. It's good that Hal doesn't know just how little David trusts anyone these days,  can’t really measure the size of his deed.

 

Hal draws himself up a little more, pulls his legs up onto the bed until he's kneeling at David's side, the subtle toss of his head not going unnoticed, sending a flutter of desire through his barely beating heart. 

 

He leans in as slowly as he can manage, careful to take note of every last signal David's body is sending. He can see the quickening of the pulse in his throat, no- sense it rather. Could he always do that?

 

Does David notice anything about him as he hovers, just above the surface of his skin. Does he realize Hal is waiting, just as long as he can manage, to take in the scent and sight of him? Does he feel Hal's tongue flicker out just once, sending his mind reeling with the promise of more to come?

 

Perhaps.

 

But David stays still. The bed shifts and then-- there's no feeling of warm breath against his skin, only the tease of a tongue heating up his blood before the other man makes his move. And Hal finds he can no longer worry as his lips close around David's neck, teeth piercing through the freely offered flesh. In that moment he is overcome.

 

As for the low rumbling of a groan leaving David’s throat as Hal's fangs break his skin, he isn't sure he could have helped it. Just as with the cut in his hand, Hal’s feeding from the wound had somehow lessened the pain afterwards, when he had first felt the sharpness of them piercing at his throat.

 

It's a sting short lived.

 

Hal drinks and there's the spike of pleasure once again, tensing David’s muscles before allowing them to relax so, so very deeply. He breathes out with a trace of a moan, and it's only logical, to hold onto Hal. The feeling would have been intoxicating on its own, but he can't isolate Hal's presence from it. Suckling from his neck, so very needy, so very hungry, sending pulses of bliss in every long, sharp sip.

 

For a moment, he forgets about keeping his alerts up.

 

Hal’s eyes have closed and he's completely lost in sating the hunger he's only just allowed himself to feel. Though with each slight shift of his head he pulls more and more from David, he also pushes himself against him, lets his chest rest against his solid frame.

 

Hands are clutching at his slight body, seeking support or merely contact, he can't tell. He only feels himself begin to fall.

 

And then, something new- something he'd never have been able to put words to if he hadn't heard them before. 

 

Warmth from the inside out, and the ever so slight hint of sweetness.

 

Under Hal, David feels like he's falling. Like the bed is water, moving below his body as alive as Hal is in his arms. The world is dimming and spinning faster as Hal continues feeding, until the only solid thing around is the body pressed against him.

 

Doesn't it make sense, then? To pull him closer, tighter against him? It's better than that first night. There's just warmth and pleasure, and whatever barriers he might have still had--

 

Hal nurses from him and sucks harder, and David chokes back another pleased growl.

 

He isn't fighting it now.

 

It comes so much easier for Hal as well, as his fear melts away and instinct takes over. And as David pulls him closer it only drives home the feeling that this is right, that he's only doing what he is meant to. Somewhere in the back of his mind he is thankful for the contact, so complete that he marvels for an instant before getting lost in his senses once again.

 

The growl David had made brings Hal out of himself, though he doesn't stop his feeding. His eyes open just enough to let him see the look on his face, lips slightly parted. And Hal can't be sure but it doesn't  _ look _ like he's hurt.

 

He pulls back at last, allowing his lips to continue trailing over the sensitive skin of David's neck.

 

"N-no more," he says, trembling, words muffled against David's throat and the blankets behind them. When had the two of them laid down? "That's e-enough..." 

 

He has enough presence of mind to finish his task in the way he knows- somehow to do.

 

It's nothing at all like a kiss, he tells himself as his mouth traces down David's neck, last remnants of blood gradually vanishing. Nothing at all.

 

Hal's lips go down his neck, dragging at a languid pace as he licks to heal the puncture wounds, and David shivers as he realizes it's over. Panting, he doesn't really have the strength to do much beyond giving Hal a slight nod. It's oh-so-very-distant, the way he realizes how far he allowed them both to go. So much further than intended. 

 

Hal had made good on his promise of control. David hadn't.

 

But he  _ is _ laying down, Hal on top of him, and the bed is threatening to swallow them both. David can be angry at himself later. Right now there's only blood loss and pulsing, pleasant aftershocks muddling his brain, just as he had need so badly, and for so long.

 

How much had Hal taken?

 

He can wait to consider how he hadn’t wanted him to stop til morning comes.

 

"Hal..." he rumbles out, voice breathy and low, completely spent, "stay if you want."

 

Pressed against David as he is, Hal can feel the other man's heart beating loudly in his chest, reverberating in the hollow of his own. It is only after he lies there for a moment that he realizes the sound is coming from himself, borrowed blood pumping through his body with furious speed. 

 

Is it simply a matter of like calling like, that compels him to align himself with David, slip down the length of his body until his heart is just above the man's, separated by nothing but a few thin layers of flesh and bone?

 

He catches his breath, gasps at the air as the pleasing warmth flows through him, makes him feel  _ alive. _

 

Hal _ feels _ , rather than hears David's words, a low vibration in his chest that shakes his own. He cannot deny that yes, he wants to stay, wants nothing more than to linger here alongside him and allow David's warmth to envelop him outside as well as from within.

 

With great difficulty he withdraws, just enough so that he rolls to David's side, making sure to keep in as close contact as he dares.

 

Would the "Doctor" or "Emmerich" have accepted such an offer? Possibly not. But "Hal" finds he cannot refuse.

 

_ Tomorrow. Hate yourself tomorrow. _

 

David’s breathing is broken and messy, a light panting that slows ever so gradually: "So you're staying. Good."

 

_ Shut up and enjoy it, Sears. _

 

Hal finds a place that allows both of them to feel the rhythm of their pumping hearts, synchronized by feeding and exertion. And David's arm pulls him closer, keeps him there. Lazily, he looks at Hal, and his flushed, relaxed face suits him to say nothing of the exhausted breaths he takes against him.

 

David doesn't have a single memory of ever feeling so good, so satisfied and fulfilled, laying down next to someone else. Veins pulsing with the aftertaste of pleasure, muscles loose and weak. Vulnerability such as this isn't supposed to be something to crave.

 

_ You can leave all the spite and fear for tomorrow. _

 

Between the liquid feel of the mattress against him and their shared warmth, it doesn't take him long to slip into unconsciousness.

 

* * *

 

 

_ "You're insane!" _

 

_ "Just think about this logically. We've done so much work, so much research. If I was to test out our findings on myself, think of the knowledge that could be lost!" _

 

_ "He'll die!" _

 

_ "That... won't happen if you do your job correctly!" _

 

Hal stirs quietly in his sleep.

* * *

 

 

David sleeps a dreamless slumber. Comfortably numb since last night, his mind finds it within itself to allow him peace.

 

He could get used to this.

 

Logic might have said he was too young to be this scarred by war. But for a kid brought up and trained in a mercenary company, who had made his first kill before puberty had started hinting at adulthood, he considered himself as well adapted as he could be. He hadn't lost his mind to violence. He had claimed back his self-control through pain and effort.

 

Hal stirs quietly, and David open his eyes not half a second later, a brief spike of adrenaline rushing through him. Realizing where he is, he nudges closer to the source of heat in his arms and keeps sleeping.

 

Aside from the occasional shift to remain against David through the night, the hours wash over them and Hal doesn’t move again. It isn't until a faint gray light finds its way through the curtains that he finds his eyes able to open, and longer still before he can focus his vision. It's hazy yet, last strands of sleep still clinging to him to say nothing of the glasses pressed firmly against his face- but he eventually manages to make out the texture of David's shirt, the gradual rise and fall of his chest.

 

He lets out a sigh of relief. David is alive. Breathing. 

 

And he'd invited him to stay. Unless Hal had imagined that, wishful thinking blurred together with the afterglow of his meal.

 

But David's arms are wrapped tightly around him, holding him close, and his face is lax with an expression of quiet peace he would never have expected from the man. 

 

Hal indulges himself just a little more, and watches as he sleeps, silvery light becoming warm and golden as morning sets.

 

When David wakes his head is heavy, temples thrumming softly. It isn’t painful so much as disorienting, tiring beyond measure. He's used to an immediate state of alertness as soon as he's roused from slumber, as if he had never been resting on the first place. 

 

Instead, he finds himself opening his eyes slowly, inhaling a scent that's quickly becoming familiar and comforting, and the overwhelming feeling that the bed covers are forming a single entity with his body... and the body of the man by his side.

 

He says nothing. There's something in his mind bitterly reminding him of all his transgressions of the last night, and even as guilt poisons his belly quickly-- Hal is there, looking at him softly, and he can't allow himself to let it show. The memory of the peace he had felt with him is dangerous, but still so vivid.

 

"’Morning."

 

Is this something Hal can look forward to? Can he dare to imagine that this calm feeling of satisfaction is something he'll get to experience again? And David... David is still holding him close- hasn't pushed him away in the light of day. Might this become something so familiar as a habit?

 

It's impossible, he tells himself. 

 

All the more reason to enjoy it now.

 

"Good morning," he responds, taking note of the tiredness evident in David's face and voice, and he feels a pang of guilt knowing he alone is responsible. But still, he's alive if a little worse for wear, and that alone is something worth appreciating.

 

Hal doesn't want to leave, not just yet- but he must be wearing out his welcome.

 

"What--- what can I do for you?"

 

_ So those are his first words, after everything. _

 

David has already witnessed the guilt inherent in everything the other man says and does. And, even knowing it’s at the core of his every action, it's strange, to feel like someone cares. He can't remember a single person giving a damn about him in the last fifteen years, at the very least. It throws him off and yet- it's not unwelcome. So it’s all the more dangerous to want more of it.

 

Physically speaking, it's less like a hangover this time, and more like plain exhaustion. But it's not letting Hal drink so much from him that he regrets.

 

"I'll be alright", he offers, but he doesn't move just yet.

 

_ Ten more seconds. _ Just a moment or two until everything has to go back to how it should be, if only because David’s limbs are as heavy as if filled with lead.

 

He exhales, and closes his eyes. "I'll make some breakfast. Do today’s perimeter sweep, too."

 

_ Five more seconds, and no more.  _ Hal wishes there was something he could do. Something useful. Prepare a meal or help David with his work.

 

Work. Because that's what this is. Part of the job. All of it. And he can’t forget that.

 

_ Time doesn’t stop for anyone. _ They both know this.

 

Hal pushes himself up, reluctantly, a bittersweet expression of thanks and sorrow clear upon his face. He touches his lips lightly with the tips of his fingers, grasping lightly at what's left of the memory, thankful David's eyes are closed. He takes in one last sight of him lying there exposed and does his best to bury the pangs of desire welling up in him, different than before but surprisingly strong.

 

Hal does his best to remove himself from the bed, despite wanting nothing more than to stay exactly as he was for as long as David would allow. But it's better this way, for him to leave without being told to do so. To remove himself before the inevitable rejection, however tempered it is with professionalism.

 

"Thank you," he says quietly, slipping back out the door.

 

"You- you're... very good at your job."


	5. Chapter 5

Fall means storms coming and going, English weather going from bad to terrible, and yellow leaves rustling in the surrounding trees. Only the underbrush smothering the manor's grounds keeps its bright green from the frequent rain.

 

David had endured worse weather before moving across the Atlantic, and as such he only stayed inside when the downpours were so severe they would've soaked through his clothes anyway. He still has plenty to do outside - daily patrols, maintenance of the security system he had set around the perimeter, and of course taming the colt he had gotten a week after he’d moved in.

 

Still, he doesn't do well indoors. Never has. He has to concede, though, that wet weather gets him down in ways the snow never did.

 

So maybe it's not a surprise he's lingering by the window, cup of black coffee warming his hands. Five in the afternoon, dark skies getting darker as the sun starts to set somewhere beneath the clouds, and the curtain of falling water hasn't let him see further than the porch the entire day.

 

At least he had managed to repair the stables before the season had set in; the horse is fine.

 

The boredom, though. David is used to being on his own, he has spent the last ten years more or less alone, and yet it's different, when living with someone else. He didn't really engage his previous employers, had kept his distance.

 

It's strange, the way this confinement makes him miss Hal's quiet company.

 

* * *

 

 

Hal stares blearily at a rack of vials and beakers, each one carefully labeled with dates and numbers. All so specific. All so meaningless. Is this really all he has? It never seemed to matter much before but now that there is someone else around he has begun to feel a discontent with his work that has nothing to do with the lack of results. And yet, he supposes that it is that desire to be a party of the greater world that necessitates his devotion. 

 

But... perhaps a moment of respite would not be out of the question.

 

He climbs the stairs leading out of his laboratory and feels lighter with each step, the storm outside doing little to hamper his mood. David will likely be inside the house somewhere.

 

It doesn't take long to find him. The man is seated at the small kitchen table, though the look on his face makes Hal reconsider approaching him. 

 

"David?" He calls softly, hoping not to interrupt whatever he might have been doing. "Is everything alright?"

 

"I'm just fine", he mutters, disengaging his gaze from the window and setting his now empty cup aside. Hal looks fresh out of the laboratory, which means he had woken up early for work. It's equally strange, then, to see him stepping out of it.

 

A heartbeat or three passes , underlined by the rain splattering against the nearby glass. Still learning the finer points of cohabiting with someone who expects from him more than wordless, steadfast protection, David remembers what manners he has, and adds: "There isn't much to do on days like this. Didn't think I'd see you so early, though."

 

Houses as big as this just amplify the echo of silence. He's sick of it.

 

The answer is not one Hal had been expecting, it's almost a relief that David's dour mood comes down to something relatively harmless like boredom. Then again, there isn't much he can do to help.

 

"I seem to have come to a bit of an impasse," he confesses. "I thought perhaps if I stepped away from the problem an answer might come to me?" It's a poor excuse for leaving his work behind, but perhaps David won't judge him too harshly. "It looks as though I've merely exchanged one difficulty for another. I haven't much in the way of diversions suitable for a man of such..." he hesitates before growing silent, a weak smile on his face. Has he misspoken?

 

"You seemed at ease on the grounds. The horse you purchased, he will be sufficient? If you need another..."

 

"One will suffice. It may have been a risky move, purchasing an ungelded, untrained horse so late in the year, but I thought it would be worth it - being able to tame it as I see fit, instead of getting a fearful beast that would have to get used to me anyway."

 

He moves to bring the cup to the sink, effortlessly washing it and drying it before setting it inside the cupboard. He isn't in a position to judge Hal for stepping away from his job, even if he were the kind of man who did that sort of thing. "The open grounds suit me. But right now, everything outside is mud. Wouldn't want to risk the horse getting bogged down out of the stables."

 

Another pause. The storm rages on, it bangs on the wooden blinds outside. He's going to have to secure them for next time, but in the meantime, he's studying Hal's face, curious.

 

He knows Hal is older than he looks, and that he seldomly stops working. What sort of thing did he do, for diversion?

 

Hal himself knows nothing of animals aside from the occasional bird or squirrel outside his window or odd beetle that makes its way into his lab, but David's work with the horse is interesting in its own way.

 

"Is it difficult? To train an animal of that size? I know they can be made docile enough to pull carriages or carts but do they... respond to you as a person then? Answer to a name? Like a dog might?"

 

"They do. But I have learned they respond better to patience than the more savage methods that horse-breakers usually dish out." Finding nothing else to do, he goes back to his seat. "They make for less cowardly, more loyal companions if you don't abuse them."

 

Is Hal interested in the natural world? As far as David knows, he seldom ventures outside these walls, by choice.

 

"Savage?" Hal echoes. "You mean they beat them. It's... a wonder they respond at all. I'm sure your methods are far more efficient." 

 

He feels a little hypocritical. The blood he's subsisted on these past decades wasn't exactly given up willingly by the animals from whom it was taken. He has no right to express sympathy for creatures when his own survival demanded he consume their very essence.

 

"I don't imagine I can be of much help in that endeavor, but..." He thinks for a moment. "If you continue to have difficulty with the process, perhaps there are some books in the library on the topic?"

 

"I have tamed horses before", David shakes his head. Yet Hal's words keep his interest piqued. "It just takes longer this way. Still..."

 

"I didn't mean to imply..." Hal hangs his head. With just a few brief words he's already managed to insult David’s abilities. And after all he's done for him, no less. "I- I'm sure you're more than capable," he adds quietly. 

 

Should David say more? Perhaps there might be a way to alleviate the boredom and claustrophobia of his current situation. With his work for the day finished, calisthenics included... But what he has in mind is not something he has really shared with other people.

 

"I would be interested of taking a look at this library of yours anyway", he says in the end.

 

He knows a manor of a size like this one usually has a place reserved for books. And thoroughly as he has secured every inch he has had access too, there are many sealed rooms which, by the nature of their locks, don't pose a vulnerability risk and therefore he hasn't opened.

 

Perhaps Hal has a chance to redeem himself after all?. He pushes himself up from the table abruptly, eyes wide. Of course. Why hadn't he thought of it before? Had he assumed that David would have little interest or need? Or was it that the library had become a sort of reward even for himself, a place he only visited after reaching some kind of meaningful success in his work.

 

Needless to say, his visits had been scarce.

 

"Yes... yes of course I.. I should have... so much sooner... I've been foolish..." he patted the pockets of his coat and trousers, searching for the bundle of keys he usually carried on his person. "Sometimes I forget that the way I live isn't..."

 

Well...  _ living, _ honestly.

 

"Come with me."

 

David nods and stands up to follow him, unsure if he should try and keep making conversation. Hal's thin skin, the ease with which he feels inadequate and mistaken, still baffles him the same as it had from the beginning. And David himself isn't knowledgeable in human relationships, or patient enough to figure out a way past those barriers without hurting him further.

 

As if he didn't have his own, anyway.

 

"There's no need to apologize so much", he offers in the end, as he trails along. Their footsteps reverberate in the wooden hallways, and that unnerves him, too.

 

The quiet of the wilderness had brought him peace. Yet here... 

 

"You couldn't have known I would've been interested”, David finishes.

 

"Still, I should make a greater effort to make sure you're comfortable. After all you're a-" Hal stops short. No, not a guest. David is merely in your employ. Nothing more.

 

"As long as you're living here, there's no reason you shouldn’t have access to the entirety of the manor and grounds." He unlocks the door when they come to it and pushes it aside. The dust in the room makes his eyes water and Hal is suddenly overcome with guilt for not taking better care of the place.

 

"It... it is nothing too grand, but these volumes have been my companions for some time now, so I've grown rather fond of them."

 

If David doesn't answer immediately, it's because the sight before him has left him breathless.

 

He has never fancied himself a cultured person, the life he has led has made sure of that. But there is undeniable majesty in this enormous salon made larger by the darkness, row after row of bookcases so thickly stacked there was no more room for further tomes inside the shelves. Near the curtained windows, by the far end of the room, he manages to spot a desk with a couple of lamps on it, and an arrangement of couches, all equally marred by cobwebs and disuse.

 

It's this same awe what makes him slip and admit, "Had never seen so many in one place." He catches himself before opening up, and asks instead. "Are you an avid reader, then?"

 

"It's a hobby that doesn't require much from a body," Hal explains. "No need to go outside, no chance of causing trouble for others. And I find it rewarding." He looks at the desk- he still thinks of it as his father's, though the man hasn't been around to use it for many years.

 

"There are numerous texts on subjects of biology, physiology, although most of them have joined me downstairs. Although there are a few botanical guides that have proven interesting. Genetic studies. Are you familiar with Mendel's works?"

 

The lamp atop the desk still holds oil and he lights it, casting a soft glow on the room. "Once in a long while I... permit myself..." there's a hesitation in his voice. "If the scientific texts aren't to your liking, there are a number of works of fiction."

 

The implications held between Hal's words and the dust of the room don't go unnoticed this time, either. "You permit", David repeats, as if tasting each letter, finding them cold and harsh.

 

He knows it's not his place to comment, and yet he speaks as plainly as he had done, from the start: "Shouldn't keep yourself apart of the things that prevent you from going mad, you know."

 

He thinks of the vials of cow's blood. He thinks of unforgiving metal cots, more adequate for himself than for a civilian that had no business knowing the bite of those military mattresses, vampire stamina or not.

 

"Tell me about the fiction you like. Novels?"

 

Hal can't bring himself to argue with David. Some tiny part of him wants to believe that he's right. It's exhausting, working the way he does, each day starting with the cold knowledge that he has nothing to look forward to but another day of research. Another day of failure. 

 

Instead he chooses to focus on the answer to David's  question.

 

"Yes. For the most part. Some of the speculative fiction is rather fascinating but..." He's a little embarrassed to be so blunt about his preferences. "I also rather enjoy some of the more... how should I say it... character driven pieces?"

 

He flips the cover of the nearest volume and runs his fingers along the edges of the page. The words come easier if he looks down at the book instead of at David's face. It's sure to be full of confusion, or worse- pity.

 

"They... become dear to you. Is that strange to say? These people who aren't even real. And yet I find myself caring about them just the same. I... want them to be happy. To find success, or l-love. If they wish it."

 

“I don't think so", Dave says, "That it's strange, I mean."

 

He makes a small pause to collect his thoughts, a hand in his pocket worrying the matchbox he still has there, turning it between his fingers and missing his cigarettes. He isn't looking at Hal, either. "It's no small comfort, to be able to go sometime or somewhere else, if the material world is lacking."

 

Why is he even talking about this? He tries to justify his words and ends up dyeing them with sarcasm. Or perhaps self-deprecation.

 

"Even soldiers need something to distract themselves with, beyond alcohol and women."

 

A little less ashamed now, because his interest is shared and that makes it all the better, he lifts his gaze and looks at Hal, clapping his shoulder:

 

"I rather like books. The few I've read."

 

Hal is glad to find he shares even this small thing in common with David, though perhaps the circumstances in which they've come to rely on literature are very different. 

 

"I... wouldn't know much about..." he chooses his words carefully, not wishing to offend David any more than he has, "the usual pastimes of soldiers... but I'm glad you were able to find respite in more ways than one."

 

It's an embarrassing thing to admit, but perhaps David has guessed already. To say Hal's "life experience" has been limited would be quite the understatement. Hal can't help but feel as though he's somewhat lacking, having never done so much as sipped at a glass of wine or...

 

He quashes the discomfort taking seed in his belly. It shouldn't matter, a thing like that. And there's little reason to be concerned with what David might think. 

 

But he is, just the same.

 

"There were many times", David says, sensing his harsh words had made Hal retreat further, "when I actually preferred to stay back at the camp. Nose buried in some old copy of Sandokan procured at the market. I was never really at home at parties."

 

The alcohol and the women, they had happened too indeed. And the alcohol in particular, it could still be drank while lonesome and far away from noise. He just doesn't see the point in remarking on the differences right now when they are trying to find common ground - he grasps for similitudes instead.

 

"It was rare, being able to get my hands on a book. Even rarer to get an intact volume. But they are fairly small and light, and easy to carry around. Fifty days on a campaign inside a jungle in Indochina, you appreciate at least being able to distract your mind with the latter half of Moby Dick."

 

David's gaze doesn't leave Hal's face, looking for further signals of uneasiness.

 

No words of judgement, hardly any of acknowledgement to Hal's admission. Perhaps it didn't even register to David as something he should make note of. It was a relief to say the least.

 

"Sandokan. Moby Dick... is there something about the sea you enjoy?" Hal knows David has lived in many places, but he'd only spoken much about his time in the North. "Or perhaps... well the ocean itself is often a metaphor for untamed nature, wild and uncaring. The very antithesis of man and his civilization... is that more of the appeal?"

 

Had it been that easy, for Hal to correctly surmise something like that about him? It throws Dave off-guard, enough to answer plainly. "... Indeed. That's-- the kind of idea I like."

 

Still bewildered, his hand falls from Hal's shoulder. Just going to the window and leaving it at that is a tempting option, but there's the feeling, nagging David inside, that something of value might be lost if he does.

 

"It's that easy to see I don't really like people, huh,” he tries to lighten up the mood.

 

"Maybe you just haven't met the right ones," Hal blurts out, his mind several steps behind his words.

 

"Ah... s-sorry," his hand rushes to cover his lips, to late to stop himself from sounding foolish again. "I shouldn't presume to know anything about the people from your past. I'm sure many of them were very fine indeed." 

 

He hopes he hasn't put David off from sharing. The two of them have scant opportunities such as these, although perhaps that's not quite accurate. It's more that Hal feels he shouldn't impose on the man. He's literally draining the life from him on a regular basis. What right does he have to information on top of that?

 

It isn't as though he has interesting stories of his own to tell. "The ones on the shelves will have to do..." he muses softly.

 

Dave shakes his head, tries to explain himself before asking about what Hal has just meant. "There's always nobility and purpose in the characters of the stories. It's written about, so it must exist. But it's not something I've found in actual living people, in my life."

 

Hal was noble. So much he attempted to defend a human race he probably ached for, while David himself didn't miss it at all.

 

A little bit begrudgingly, he ends up conceding, "Not like I spent a lot of time surrounded by real society, though."

 

An uncommon childhood could be another thing they shared. But he isn't up to discuss it today - David has already spoken too much.

 

"What do you mean?", he finally inquires. "About what you said with the shelves?"

 

It isn't until he hears David's question that Hal realizes he'd spoken aloud. It takes him a moment to gather his thoughts enough to explain.

 

"I haven't the wealth of experience that a man such as yourself does," he begins. "The last several years have been monotonous, day after day of routine. Sometimes I think that if not for the tales I read here, the people whose lives I peer into... I might not be sure that time was passing at all."

 

He shakes his head to clear it and tries again. "I can't offer you much in the way of my own stories but perhaps the ones in here will do?"

 

A slow smile takes over David's face: "Sounds like a plan. Under one condition."

 

He pauses for a second, and the sound of the matches inside their box, turning around by his fingers may give away how difficult it's to offer what he has in mind - David knows it's a compromise, that the consequences will be opening up and showing himself. "You'll come here with me, too."

 

"I think it's absurd, to willingly shut yourself out the library. It's fulfilling to you."

 

A pause and he adds, "Maybe I'd want to listen about what you have to say, of these stories."

 

Hal's immediate reaction is to refuse, to insist that David enjoy himself without him, that he needn't worry.

 

Surely, that's all it is. Worry. Concern. David believes that Hal hasn't been taking care of himself and perhaps that idea extends beyond the basics of eating and sleeping. 

 

Is it really permissible for Hal to indulge his hobbies like this? He's done nothing to earn the leisure, that is for certain. But the look on David's face is resolute.

 

"Is this an order... for my health?"

 

"Yeah. For the health of your mind", Dave answers, serious now. "It needs taking care of, too."

 

He goes to the nearest bookcase and takes out a dusty tome at random, handing it to Hal.

 

"Punishment is not the same as discipline."

 

"Punishment..." Hal echoes. It isn't the first time David has used the word to describe his habits, all a part of Hal's life so long he isn't sure he knows another way to carry on. And yet- while he'd convinced himself that his meager diet had been plenty, he now knows how wrong he'd been.

 

Part of him fears the day he might have to go without again. Not just because of his own need, but the possibility that he'll be unable to sate himself as he did before. That without someone like David around he might go... hunting for another source. He shudders at the thought.

 

No. He won't let that happen. David is the first person to offer himself up, and Hal is determined he'll be the last. Whether he is finally successful in his own research or even if he has to take his own... well, take matters into his own hands.

 

Perhaps then, it is alright for him to enjoy this time now for what it is? If only in small doses?

 

"I'm accustomed to a rather strict regime..." he agrees. "But perhaps you can help me adjust to a more forgiving schedule."

 

David can't know what kept Hal silent for so long between his first word and the agreement. He had just stared at him, noticed the slow shift from unease to determination.

 

"That'll be no problem", he offers a hand to seal the deal.

 

This goes slightly beyond what he can still justify as 'his business', again, and he knows it. But doing Hal a favor doesn't bother him. Hal has never done him harm, so it's not strange that David appreciates him. Even if it's hard to understand Hal sometimes, hard to move around him without disturbing anything.

 

David thinks he wouldn't mind staying for a while. The idea leaves a strange aftertaste, but it's not necessarily a bad one.

 

"We're already here. If there's anything you might like to select for the afternoon..."

 

"Oh." Hal, suddenly shaken from his train of thought looks around the room as though he's seeing it for the first time. Does David wish for a recommendation? Or is he suggesting Hal make himself comfortable for a few hours?

 

"I think I might return to some of my botanical texts for now. Ah to... ease into the idea of leisure time for its own sake." He ran a hand across the top of his desk, thick with dust, but the papers he'd left were still waiting for him.

 

"And you? Is there anything in here that captures your imagination?"

 

David thinks it over, about to ask for a recommendation. Frankly, he’s overwhelmed by the size of the library, until he remembers. "... There's a book I liked, but my volume was incomplete."

 

Where to start? "It's a long shot. But if you had it here, that'd be great. It's been years and I still wonder about the ending, and the title. The main character-- Do you know a Jean Valjean?"

 

That book had been one of his main companions during several harsh winters in Yukon. From the first one, to be more precise, when he’d barely arrived across the Atlantic, looking for a new life.

 

Hal smiles broadly at that. This is something he can help with and he's filled with relief.

 

"Monsieur Valjean? I do believe I've had the good fortune of making his acquaintance, yes." He lost no time in heading directly to the nearest shelf, thin fingers running along the spines of countless faded volumes. "Here we go. _Les_ _Miserables_. " He hands it over with a nod. "You have good taste. This was a highly anticipated work. The world was hungry for more of what Hugo had to offer and I dare say they weren't disappointed."

 

"I won't spoil the ending for you, but do let me know what you think of it."

 

David doesn't answer immediately, or at least not verbally. He just nods, caressing the cover and spine with a calloused index. His heart is doing an unexpected tam-tam, fast and intense.

 

Softly, "I've been looking for it for, what. Ten years?" He hadn't expected to feel so overcome by the find. So... happy. "I just read the first part. Got a battered yellowback from a gold miner in Yukon, you know? It was falling apart and had no cover."

 

For a moment, he doesn't even mind the way he's talking, so personal all of a sudden. He just holds the book close to him. "Thank you. I'll start with it now, if that's alright with you."

 

"Please," Hal implores him. "I'm quite interested to see what you think of it. I can't imagine how frustrating it must have been to be left so wholly unsatisfied for years like that. I'm sure you'll enjoy yourself."

 

He makes his own selection and takes a seat at the desk, giving it a cursory wipe with the edge of his sleeve before opening the book to one of the many marked pages. It's covered in a number of technical illustrations of flora, most of which are found in abundance in the local forests but Hal has seen few of the specimens in the flesh.

 

A quick glance over his shoulder finds David already lost in his novel so Hal sees no harm in quietly unearthing the set of pencils and sketchbook from the bottom drawer. Turning on the lamp and settling on an interesting diagram of a thistle he sets to work recreating the image as best he can before trying to imagine the plant from different angles or states of bloom and experiments with putting his thoughts on paper.

 

Sitting in one of the couches next to the desk, the misfortune of Prisoner 24601 greets David as fresh and new. He starts the book from the beginning, as it deserves, but he's barely amidst the first chapters with Bishop Myriel when he realizes the tenuous light from the lamp is making his eyes hurt.

 

He goes to Hal to ask about the wall gaslights, silent as ever without meaning to be, and is surprised by the detail in what his ward is sketching.

 

He remembers to make enough noise to not startle him again before getting closer and commenting, "Didn't know you could draw."

 

He turns on the other lamp. "Here. You'll damage your sight like that."

 

He already has half a mind to carry on with his reading back at his room with better lighting and in bed, and Hal is probably gifted with nocturnal vision anyway, but the sentiment still stands.

 

Hal winces instinctively as the lamp flickers, the room suddenly brighter. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust but when the do he has to admit there is a marked improvement.

 

"Thank you," he responds a hand finding its way across the page, covering the sketch. "I tend to get a little wrapped up in my work and forget..."

 

He looks down at the drawing, then back to David. "It's nothing more than a hobby... I can fool myself into thinking it's productive, a branch of science that might someday prove helpful. Though I'm not sure how much good it will do- I'm not likely to encounter a rogue thistle or hawthorn anywhere in the manor. Mushrooms, perhaps."

 

"There's an interesting amount of brambles in the grounds, actually. Pretty sure we can find you some thistles, too", David offers, not unkindly.

 

He'd like to see more of the drawing, but it's hard with Hal's hand covering it. And there's again, that notion of having to earn times of leisure instead of allowing them to happen whenever Hal needs. He doesn't quite want to get into that, and scare Hal further away. He has criticized his ward enough for one afternoon. "May I see what you're working on?"

 

Hal hesitates for a moment. After all, he's never shown his sketches to anyone before and he realizes for the first time that there's something oddly personal about it. It's not that he expects David to be critical of his work, and there's certainly nothing embarrassing about the subject matter itself but at the same time the book represents something of an investment of time and...

 

Well it's perhaps the first thing he's shared with David that is really "his". Not a condition of his birth. Not the line of research that it necessitates. Not even the house or finery he inherited. This is something he has created... even if it is only a series of copies and imitations.

 

He nods and hands over the book.

 

Respectfully, Dave takes it and holds it carefully, flipping through the pages and tracing the lines of every drawing with a finger, without touching them to not smudge the carefully inked linearts, the charcoal sketches sprawling across the paper. The motifs are often of the natural world - Plants with their leaves and stems, flowers, seeds. Animals, sometimes, though those are sparse.

 

Fewer still, some complete scenes of woods and lakesides.

 

"These are good", he comments appreciatively. A little bit stiff and messy, maybe, but he’s impressed nevertheless. "More so if you haven't really been to these places."

 

He doesn't mean it as a jab against Hal, and he catches himself quickly, before Hal feels hurt by his observation, "You have a talented hand. And a lot of imagination."

 

"I appreciate what the book do for me,” Hal explains, “providing me with a window to a world I haven't any ri- I mean... ability to see for myself. But there are times when I find myself with little basis for some of the places I read about."

 

He flips the pages to one of the scenes, several small sketches of a horizon covered in snow. Some of the images contain trees, others are barren and a few have been crossed out entirely. 

 

"I've seen snow outside my window, and on the grounds when I've stepped outside, so I can imagine what the land must look like when it's absolutely covered. But there's something... lacking." He shakes his head. "This isn't the wild North I've read about. It's not... dangerous. Not alive."

 

"And, you're interested in that kind of landscape? Huh." Dave's eyebrows arch in wonder, still-fresh images conjuring in his mind.

 

He takes another look at the scenery depicted in Hal's drawings. He can spot the inaccuracies, but most of them look like the real thing well enough. Pensive, "Wouldn't have pegged you for the type."

 

He takes a half-seat on the desk, to better look at Hal. "What do you like about the wilderness? Is it the danger you speak of?"

 

"Not the danger itself," Hal pauses as he searches for an answer. He's never really considered what is appealing about these sorts of faraway places aside from the fact that they are...well, far away.

 

"Perhaps it has more to do with the vastness, the openness and raw state of things." He takes a breath and looks around the room, letting his eyes rest on the numerous shelves all softly lit with the warm glow from their lamp. "A gilded cage is still just that." 

 

Hal worries he's said too much, but when has he ever had anyone to talk to about such things before?

 

"In a place like this, with its cavernous halls and endless rooms I find myself reminded constantly that I am... alone." He gives David a sad smile. "Tables built for twenty, parlors for guests."

 

"But imagining the wilderness, I can almost believe that being alone would be part of the natural order of things. Solitude and the frontier go hand in hand, do they not?"

 

"They do", David finds himself nodding in assent before he can stop himself. "It's a good reason to go to such a place... and stay."

 

"This house, you're right about it", and maybe Hal is talking too much, but David knows the answer to these questions, and so he won't save them for himself alone. His words are not unsympathetic, but he doesn't sweeten them either. "Solitude here equals confinement. The air is stale with quiet."

 

And what if he had never talked in depth about his stint in the Wild North to past employers? They wouldn't have cared for it anyway. Hal, though, he would never hurt David. Wouldn't use David's memories for anything else beyond picturing the place in his own mind and then committing it to paper.

 

"It's not like that in Yukon. It's cold. Colder than here, enough to cost you fingers and toes in the depth of winter, if you aren't careful. But it's never numb ."

 

Six years there and the only numbness David had found there, he had bought by the bottle. 

 

"It's a harsh place with little comforts, but it's perfect for anyone willing to pay the price as long as they can start over."

 

"It sounds..." Hal thinks, "well, awful, honestly." He chuckles to himself. "But at the same time I imagine there's a peace of mind intrinsic to that sort of isolation..." 

 

"But perhaps only for those who truly need it."

 

There's a part of him that aches as he thinks about the impossibility of leaving his home for some far off land. Though the idea of being far enough from others so as not to worry about hurting anyone is appealing, he knows that he needs others for his mere survival. Even if he were some kind of rugged outdoorsman like David there is still the matter of his diet. At the very least, being close to a major metropolis meant he had been able to make "arrangements" for deliveries in the past. 

 

Yet in the wilderness... on his own...

 

Well, it's not as though anyone would accompany him. Any amount of money he might offer would be near useless in a place like that anyway. It's best to put the thought from his mind.

 

Hal isn't asking for more - he's actually looking pensive, and for a second, it seems like David has nothing else to say as well.

 

"I can't speak for people who don't need it at all", he concedes, in the end. The lamps flicker and he's suddenly lost in another time, another place - In front of the fireplace, the smell of burning logs and the mud of his boots and the fur of his dogs dancing in front of his nose.

 

"But if you ever decided to go, it would be no problem showing you around. There are places I know so well, I could navigate them even after the sunset. The long nights might suit you well."

 

Hal thinks he must have given up on "deciding" anything for himself a long time ago. Hadn't every facet of his life been dictated for him? His work, his home. He'd only sought out David because the letter he'd received had urged him to do so.

 

"Perhaps some day," he nods and in this moment is content to imagine a time when he might be free to accept such an offer, and that David might actually be interested in making good on it. "When my... constitution is better suited for travel."

 

David shrugs, and then there's the rattle of his matchbox once again as a pang of nostalgia makes him dearly miss the taste of tobacco, now that he’s been talking about his former life. He knows Hal won't ever leave this house, but it's easier to pretend, sometimes, that this entire situation they are in is normal . As if David himself had ever been anything like it. "Or I can just tell you what it looks like. So you can put it in your drawings."

 

Hal's eye's light up at David's suggestion. "That could prove quite helpful, really. If it wouldn't be too much trouble. A first-hand account of such places..." 

 

He smiles with excitement and reaches out for his pencil once more, the tips of his eager fingers brushing against David's hand. 

 

In that instant, something courses through him like a shock or a burn, alarming but not so unpleasant. The realization startles him and he pulls back suddenly, his book falling to the floor.

 

Heart beating fast and loud, David stays where he is. Hal had startled him and nothing else, he thinks, as he takes away his hand. What had even been that reaction...

 

"Your notebook", he mutters, noticing it laid open. The sketch of a woman with sheared hair, sad and dressed in rags, greets him from one page opposite to a study of a vase he had seen in the dining room. He has the feeling that he knows her, but doesn't say it out loud.

 

He hops off the table and kneels to pick up the notebook, hand it to Hal. "Here"

 

The certainty that usually accompanies all his gestures isn't really there at all when he puts his hand on Hal's knee. Blue eyes looking for the source of distress on Hal's face and finding none, he asks "Are you alright?"

 

Hal can only stare back at him, unsure of how to answer the question. He's not injured in any way, and it isn't as though Dave had made so much as a sudden movement to startle him. And yet his heart has leapt up into his throat while his stomach turns over and he hasn't the words to explain himself.

 

He takes the book, still open and gazes down at it as though the answer is likely to appear on its pages but finds nothing that helps. Nothing that is, but a distraction.

 

"Can you recognize her?" He asks of the woman on the page. "She shows up early enough in the book I thought you may." The portrait is an old one, but it's not singular, the pages before filled with images of the same woman from every angle. 

 

Though the expression and size of the images vary, Hal is in fact rather proud of the consistency of the design. The likeness seems real enough one might have thought they were done from a live model, though he has never seen such a woman. 

 

Not in his waking hours, anyway.

 

"Fantine", David nods, and the realization is somewhat fitting. "Didn't know you had liked the book so much, as to draw the characters."

 

Such sad eyes in that picture. And he wonders now, if Hal had ever met a woman to base his drawing on. Considering his past isolation, David's doubts are well-founded. He stands up and goes back to his perch, attentively looking at Hal's face. The melancholic droop of his eyelids resonates with the drawing, somehow, even if the face is different.

 

Maybe it had been a self-portrait of sorts.

 

Could vampires look at themselves in the mirror, then?

 

"Still plenty of time until midnight", David says. They have a scheduled feeding that night. He doesn't want to think, either, of how much easier it is each time they do it. How much more pleasant. "So if you have questions about Yukon..."

 

Why is he offering so much?

 

_ It doesn't have to be personal. Just talk about the landscape. Don't have to spit out everything you went through there. _

 

It actually comes as a relief to Hal that David seems to have noticed nothing out of the ordinary. And why should he? Any strangeness- aside from the obvious, of course, is surely imagined.

 

"It's more that I had a clearer image of her than some of the others," he says as he turns the book over in his hands again. "I don't do many portraits, they tend to look like the delivery men or couriers who come by, an amalgamation of remembered features."

 

"But when I tried to draw her, I don't know. It was clearer somehow, yet I couldn't see it all. Like a half forgotten dream."

 

He closes the book at looks back to David, surprised to see him studying his features so intently. After a moment he clears his throat and looks away.

 

"That's probably nonsense though." 

 

"Perhaps we could talk more about the Yukon another time?" He gives a weak smile, still feeling a little shaken. "I'm suddenly quite... tired. I think I may like to rest before... ahm, tonight."

 

He doesn't want to linger on it just yet. Doesn't want to think about how each time they meet it becomes just that much more difficult for him to stop.

 

"It's alright", David nods, still wondering about the portrait somehow. There had been a tender tint to Hal's words, when he had spoken about the model. "It's not that interesting anyway."

 

Picking up his own book and hopping off the table, he adds "I'll be in my room with this one, you're welcome to come in when the time comes."

 

Why does he feel so weirdly dejected? It wasn't like him, to want to actually talk about his life, beyond the superficial anecdotes he usually brought to the table, whenever they did some chit-chat to stave away time.  

 

"Go have some rest, Hal. You woke up early today."

 

He knows he's looking forward to the feeding, but that doesn't mean Hal has to know. It's already too much like David is the one using Hal and not the other way around.

 

Hal watches as he turns to leave and makes a brief attempt to clear the top of the desk of its sundry books and papers but makes no move to stand. A quick glance over his shoulder confirms that he is indeed alone. 

 

Reason dictates he should return to his room for the next few hours as he implied he would. Yet there's a faint compulsion twitching in his brain and for once, Hal decides to indulge it.

 

He checks the door once again, making sure that David hasn't returned to pick up some forgotten item, but being assured he settles back into his seat and closes his eyes. 

 

It would be easy to doze off now, he hadn't been lying about his exhaustion, but he forces himself to remain awake and mindful. He focuses his thoughts, doing his best to replay the scenes already being written to his memory. 

 

Dark hair. A furrowed brow. Eyes intense with concern, an expression that wordlessly searched for answers even though the questions themselves are beyond him.

 

Hal reaches out for his book and begins to draw.

  
  



	6. Chapter 6

Gray is the afternoon, silent and standing amidst a sea of spontaneous underbrush, the Emmerich Manor is an impressionist painting in washed out monochrome.   
  
Day after day, there is little to betray its status as a living place. Simply put, it looks more like the sort of abandoned place people speak of in hushed tones. The rattle of the wind against the nearby trees does it no favors, and the pathway is stained with half thawed snow and yesterday's rains.   
  
A cloaked man with a parcel enters and through the lace curtains, the gas lamps can be seen flickering into life.   
  
Seven o'clock, and a ray of timid light illuminates the hallway through the library's ajar door, breaking the reigning darkness of the corridor. There's a moment when a sizzling sound crisps the air, and then--    
  


_ "Quand j’entends tes pas" _ , a clear male voice sings,  _ "Comme en un rêve... La folle espoir de te revoir s’élève..." _ __   
  
Smiling, David steps away from the gramophone and goes to look for Hal.

 

* * *

 

 

Though it's still early in the evening, Hal has already finished his work for the day. His instruments are all clean and meticulously put away, findings recorded and every surface devoid of any evidence of his research. It isn't as though he is a messy creature by nature, but in the past he'd seen little point into tidying his workstation when he never left it for a few hours at a time.   
  
These days, however, he is spending more and more time away. His life has adopted a new rhythm, one that allows time and space for the man that has been living with him for several months now. Though at first it was a difficult adjustment to make, he has seen no detriment to the quality of his findings. In fact for the first time in years, he is beginning to make progress.

  
So he continues to indulge himself and follows David's suggestions. First weekly, and now every night they meet in the library to read and converse. What had been intended as a way for David to pass the time has become something Hal himself looks forward to. He only hopes David will not grow tired of this as well, finding the new routine monotonous in its own way.   
  
It is a wonder then, when Hal steps out of his laboratory and into the hallway that a strange sound greets him. He hears a man's voice, indistinct although he immediately knows it isn't David's. For an instant he retreats back behind his door, wary of any strangers but soon another sound reaches him, is it... music?    
  
He takes a few steps closer.

 

Turning the corner is David, extending his hand to Hal.   
  
"Got you something", it's the first thing he says, another hand behind his back. "I have no clue if it's to your taste, but..."   
  
It's not like he had spent the afternoon at the shop, debating on what to bring. There's a couple of albums more, including Chopin's Nocturnes and a fairly recent recording of poetry read aloud, carefully propped next to the gramophone. But he had chosen to play the popular music first - it was less likely that Hal had heard it before.   
  
It is a trespassing of boundaries, again, but those have become frequent to the point of normalcy. And now David has found himself idle, his hands full of money he doesn’t really have a use for - not when Hal not only pays him a salary, but also provides for his needs and general well-being. There had been no shortage of calculations for the risk he is taking. His expression doesn’t betray any of the nervousness tensing the steel of his shoulders, but his eyes gleam with excitement, waiting for his ward's opinion.

 

Hal relaxes immediately when he sees David who appears to be in high spirits. He takes his hand after only a second of hesitation, unsure what this has to do with the strange voice he hears coming from the other room, but eager to find out.   
  
He follows David to the library and his brow furrows as he searches the room for the source of the sound. The gramophone, of course. He tilts his head, trying to decipher to the recording.   
  
"This is... French?" He closes his eyes, doing his best to make out each word, though it is difficult. He understands the language in theory, having learned it from textbooks and the copies of novels in multiple tongues to be found on the shelves, but it is a world apart from hearing the words spoken, no, sung so artfully.   
  
"It's beautiful."

 

"I'm glad it's to your liking", David answers, and the seeds of doubt sprouting, tangling him, die down easily as he sees Hal smiling and pleased. "And, yes, it’s French. Haven't had the chance to learn the language myself, though I picked up some words and sayings from the miners in Klondike, and the locals in Indochina. Just...", he looks for a way to finish with dignity and finds none. "Thought it sounded nice."   
  
He goes to the gramophone and retrieves the other two vinyls. Shrugging, he presents them to Hal. "Here you go. You can change it if you get bored, or something."   
  
It's a good way to drive away that itchy silence they both loathe. It has nothing to do with how much more livable their routine is now that Hal actually steps away from the lab.

 

"I'd offer to teach you but I'm afraid I wouldn't be much aid when it came to pronunciation..." Hal trails off as he focuses on the words of the song. "Though if you were interested in taking lessons in town I'm sure it could be arranged."   
  
A brief look of puzzlement crosses his features as he sorts out one or two lines of the lyrics. He mouths along as they repeat, tracing their sounds with his lips.   
  
“ _ La folle espoir de te revoir s’élève” _   
  
"The hope... to see you..."   
  
“ _ Parce que je n'ai que toi” _   
  
"Because I have only..."   
  
He stops himself short, eyes darting to David suddenly who is still wearing an expectant look of curiosity. Surely he chose this song only by chance and for no other reason. Their discussion of French literature guiding his selection, nothing more.   
  
Hal smiles, slightly wary and unwilling to question further. "This is quite a treat," he says, trying to calm the sudden uneasiness within him. "Is there some occasion I've failed to remember?"

 

"Not that I know of, no", is David's honest answer. "Though I am grateful."   
  
...He regrets those words as soon as he blurts them out, something in them leaving him naked to his own mind. Still, Hal doesn't have to know how foreign this kind of impulse is to him. And considering the way Hal is looking at him, not giving an explanation would just keep him laid open, bereft from the shielding of reason.   
  
It’s just, giving and receiving gifts - that's the sort of thing normal people do.   
  
"Finished Les Miserables last week", he clarifies, scratching at the nape of his neck to hide his embarrassment. "Complete, the two volumes. Been wanting to pay you back somehow."   
  
Finishing his idea before he gets cold feet, he adds, "I can bring more, if you'd like. There's a shop in town that brings both phonograph cylinders and gramophone vinyls."

 

Hal sighs, his shoulders sagging with relief as he takes David's meaning. A simple thanks for providing him with a way to stave off boredom and reuniting him with a long lost acquaintance, nothing more. There is no reason to read into the lyrics of the song, even if Hal finds a certain... relatability within their meaning. It's only in his mind and not worth mentioning.   
  
"An entire shop?" Hal is delighted. "I am impressed, I had thought the technology was more f a fad, but if more people are becoming interested in recordings it could be quite a boon to those like myself. People who are unable to travel to hear performances such as these."   
  
He reaches out carefully to lift the needle. "Would it be alright to listen to it once more?"

 

"Course it would", David smiles, encouraging him. "It's yours, isn't it?"   
  
He stands behind Hal, “It’s set, then. I’ll bring more the next time I go to town", and he hurries to make clear, "Kinda like them too."   
  
He’s too eager. And David knows it. But... he likes it, when Hal is comfortable enough to talk about hobbies he enjoys. Whenever he manages to forget his almost permanent anxiety, it's like a fog is lifted from his mood, letting light show through. Even if it's already difficult to keep justifying more and more of these gestures alongside what David's supposed chores are, the slippery slope getting steeper every time. Cohabitation just gets... easier, if Hal is happy.   
  
The needle swims through the grooves of the vinyl disc, bringing forth the tenor's melancholic voice once again. Maybe not the cheeriest song, but one he remembered having heard in English before, and it had provided a good-enough starting point at the shop, since he knew nothing of Hal's musical taste.   
  
"Wonder when you brought in this model, though. Did the gramophone come with the house?"

 

"I suppose that's one way of putting it." Hal nods. "Like so many of the things here, it belonged to my father before..." Hal is unsure how to finish the statement, the fate of the man still unknown. "...Until it came to me."   
  
He listens appreciatively to the song, waiting for it to end before speaking again. "His interests in the technology lay elsewhere, though. He purchased it as a means of recording more than listening. He was quite fastidious about making records of his own work."   
  
Hal takes the record from the player and turns it over in his hands once or twice, simply marveling at the innovation that has made such a device possible.    
  
"Can you imagine, the song we just heard was sung weeks, months ago. And yet we could listen to it a year from now and it would still sound just as perfect. Preserved forever, and I can hold it in my hands." He looks up to David, a curious look on his face. "It's almost a sort of magic, isn't it?"

 

"I think so, too", David nods, and there's something so pleased in the way he says it. He had anticipated Hal being happy with the gift but now he has also found depth in it and- " It's not a bad way to preserve, or make memories. But also..."   
  
He thinks it a little, before continuing, "Of course, there's more to memories than just sound and pictures., more than the sum of what we perceive through our senses. But... this music will play the same every time. But the moment and its effect on you will always change, just like with books."   
  
Again, he has spoken too long. But he has long since learned Hal is usually excited whenever David reveals even a little of himself.   
  
And he never turns it against him.

 

The song plays through again and Hal can't help himself. He lifts the needle again and starts the recording once more, closing his eyes as he focuses on each note and syllable, creating a recording of his own. Then again, there is more to this memory than simple sound. The temperature of the room, the scent of old leather, dust and cedar...   
  
Hal opens his eyes and sees the way David is watching him. That too will become part of the memory. One he will quietly cherish.   
  
"I believe I take your meaning," he agrees. "Just as certain words resonate differently with us at different points in our lives- perhaps one day I shall hear this song again and will find something else in its words."

 

Hal had taken some time to answer. But even then, nothing could have prepared David for what he had said. His instincts scream  _ danger _ at him, every hair standing to attention, and he doesn't know why. Doesn't know why he feels needles piercing the nape of his neck.   
  
Hal had agreed with him, and spoken plainly. That was good.   
  
Somehow, David doesn't make the connection to the lyrics, and the moment is gone when he nods in agreement, and adds, "I hope you enjoy the other two as much, then."

 

Hal blinks, momentarily stunned. In his excitement he had almost forgotten that David had brought multiple records home. He lifts them from the table to inspect them, and is pleased with what he finds.    
  
Chopin's "Nocturnes" fill the library with soothing melodies, expertly played on the piano and Hal remains entirely silent for a time, content to do nothing but allow the music to envelop him.   
  
He's trembling slightly when he finally turns to look at David, not entirely sure what to say.   
  
"It..." he pauses, searching for the words, some means to express what he's feeling, to say nothing of his gratitude.   
  
"It rather makes me wish I knew how to play," he says at last, dabbing at the corner of his eye with the cuff of his coat. "To be able to create something of such beauty and worth... it must bring immeasurable joy."

 

David says nothing for a moment. The arrangement of notes washing over them like raindrops had eased his own anxiety as well. He’s overcome with both the music and the well of emotion it has unveiled in Hal, to the point it takes him some energy to break the renewed silence and answer.   
  
His rough voice is made soft as he talks, "It's not necessary to be a creator to enjoy something. Composers would be lonely with no audience."   
  
The handkerchief in his pocket - he offers it to Hal.   
  
"You aren't a writer, and neither am I, but I rather enjoy listening about what you have to say about the novels you have here. It's... enjoyable."   
  
Unprompted, David puts the record on again. There's a small smile on his lips, and why shouldn’t there be? This is good, he has brought something worthwhile to the table for once.

 

"Perhaps you are right," Hal agrees. "I just can't help but think how satisfying it must be to create something unique..."    
  
Instead of spending your waking hours concerned with unmaking...   
  
If he had been in danger of lingering on the dissatisfaction of his own lot, David’s words have done enough to quiet it.   
  
"I confess, I have come to look forward to spending time discussing literature with you as well. And other matters, of course."   
  
David had been surprisingly giving not just of his time, but of details about his past adventures. Well, perhaps he wouldn't use that descriptor for them, but to Hal, hearing David recount his experiences across the globe was better than turning the pages of even the most imaginative volume of Wells or Verne. After all, unlike the tales in his books, the stories David told him were real.   
  
It reminds Hal how little of the world he had experienced.   
  
And yet, he believes David when he says he enjoys listening to his thoughts as well. It is a wonder that such a man would find anything of value in his words, but Hal is too pleased to question it.

 

"Good to know I'm not the only one who likes Library Afternoons, then", David gives Hal a small sign to sit with him, a slight gesture with his chin. They've been standing by the gramophone this entire time and the couch is waiting for them. "Even if the only thing I have to add to it is tales of how hard it snows in Klondike."   
  
There it is again, Hal looking at David as if he was made of the gold he had mined for no other reason than a powerful need to do something with his hands, anything beyond straight-up murder under the banner of another. He knows he shouldn't let Hal believe he's anything other than what he is.   
  
But it’s still difficult to tear down his own pedestal, to stop leaving the gruesome details out of his stories. For starters, it would involve speaking of all the things in his past, deeds and actions David is ashamed of. Hal's bright eyes, the way he longs for the outside world, David doesn't have it in him to dull either.

 

"Ah, but you know so many different words for snow!" Hal laughs, thankful for the opportunity. In weeks past he'd worried that David might be offended, thought that Hal was laughing at him rather than from the sheer enjoyment of the conversation, but his concerns turned out to be baseless, much to his relief.   
  
Still, though he is surprised to hear David speak of "Library Afternoons" as more of a pastime than a part of his régimen, Hal is determined not to let it show just how glad he is for that fact.   
  
He takes a seat on the chaise lounge nearest to the gramophone, sitting straight backed despite the smooth curves of the cushion inviting him to recline. He turns the last record over in his hands, inspecting the fine paper in which it's wrapped.   
  
"Poetry?" He tilts his head, running a finger down the list of sonnets recorded on the disk.    
"Fascinating. I hadn't considered dramatic readings but it does make a great deal of sense."

 

"There were recordings of written material at the shop", David quips. "These are some sonnets."

 

He plops himself on the nearest settee, back ramrod straight. "The discs don't hold enough to record a novel, but there were also some of Shakespeare’s plays divided into sets of ten vinyls. I just had to see if they interested you first."

 

Hal is paying him a small fortune for what amounts to staying at the manor keeping watch so nothing happened to him. Since he had come work there, there had been only a minor attempt at a break-in, and David had to do nothing more than to scare the intruder away - not a sign of the alleged hunter yet.

 

It is just normal, for David to want to give back to him. Even if he’s nothing more than a hired hand, he feels... healthy. This kind of life, it suits the introvert in him, and now the boredom is effectively staved off by books and conversation, David would answer truthfully if asked - this is the most comfortable he has felt in his life.

 

There is risk in complacency and he knows it. But he doesn't think he has grown soft yet. He just wants to enjoy it while it lasts, because so far, nothing ever has.

 

"Going to put it on?", he asks, seeing that Hal is still reading the sleeve.

 

Hal makes no move to rise just yet, remains still aside from turning the record over in his hands a second time. The paper is covered in writing of course, but also  delicate print, likely done with engraving. It's a lavish scene, full of intricate trees and grasses all surrounding a youthful couple, sitting amongst what he is pleased to recognize as wildflowers.

 

Are these the sort of people for whom poetry is meant? Young lovers in the prime of life? He studies their faces, the easy smiles and open lips caught in the middle of laughter.

 

It's the sort of scene he's never known, so far removed from his years of solitude. Even his afternoons with David are overshadowed by the dust and dark. And the quiet. 

 

At last he replaces Chopin with the sonnets, each one accompanied by a brief musical interlude to mark the beginning and end.

 

"This is quite a gift," he says. "To think that I'll hear more voices in a single afternoon than perhaps the whole of the last year."

 

Does David miss it? If not the bustling world of men, there is still fondness in his voice when he speaks of the Yukon. Even his tales of his years of service carry with them what Hal can only assume is wistful nostalgia.

 

_ And yet he stays here with you. Out of duty. Honor. He has broadened your world a dozen times over yet you have only succeeded in expanding your cage so that it might house two instead of one. _

 

"It's good if that pleases you" David ventures. The silences in between, the slow, paused way they're holding this conversation wouldn't have normally bothered him. But there's a shadow behind Hal's eyes, and now he's wondering what happened to make it appear once again.

 

_ "Most worthy comfort, now my greatest grief, _

_ Thou best of dearest, and mine only care, _

_ Art left the prey of every vulgar thief"  _

 

The calm, kindly emotive voice in the record carries on, but David- he doesn't know anything about these kind of emotions. Hearing about them out loud makes him uneasy. Maybe the sonnets weren't a good idea after all?

 

"You seem melancholic again", he says. "Is something the matter?

 

Hal turns, blinking rapidly in an effort to ease away the stinging that has started just behind his eyes.

 

"I..." He looks around the room for a moment and it suddenly seems so small. "I'm sorry. I'm afraid I've gotten a bit..." His eyes land upon the gramophone once more, still projecting soothing tones and instruments. "Just a bit carried away."

 

He worries the edge of his jacket with trembling fingers, unable to look back at David just yet.

 

"The words... perhaps hearing them spoken aloud I finally..." but the lie dies gracelessly on his lips. He takes a moment and tries again. "It's bittersweet, isn't it? To have something so precious and dear to you that you end up fearing its loss so strongly."

 

David is unprepared for this conversation. Everything is suddenly so complicated, words and feelings tangled up and Hal has become so open, vulnerable. He barely knows how to begin to unravel it all.

 

"Couldn't know", he admits, and doesn't he miss his cigarettes? The craving crackling through his system in a shiver, fingers curling to hold an nonexistent filter...  "I've never felt that way about anyone."

 

It's all fiction, as he had said the last time they had a talk like this. He knows these are feelings people actually have, because they're written about with consistency and frequency. But David himself has never come across them. Nobility and bravery and kindness and love... 

 

Hal's eyes are bright still, and David tears his gaze away from them, regretting having spoken at all. He could have just agreed on the sentiment and left it at that.

 

"Don't mind me, though."

 

Hal breathes deeply as his eyes close. "Of course."

 

He should know better than to try and forge such waters when he is ill-prepared. And David himself seems unable to navigate this territory. Better to retreat, return to terra firma.

 

"Perhaps for some... these sentiments are mere fantasy. Magic flutes, nymphs from the sea..."

 

He turns at last, his eyes opening so he might at least see David's expression, even if he knows he'll only ache at the sight of it.

 

"Then again, some may say the same of myself."

 

He plucks the needle from the record, halting the recording mid-word and returns it to its casing.

 

"You mentioned plays?" He asks, slowly regaining his composure. "Comedies, perhaps?"

 

David had had an idea half-formed on the tip of his lips... and then Hal had gone and changed the topic so abruptly. Now he's sure he has messed up.

"I saw some, yeah", he answers in the end, eyes trained on the floor. Confused and irritated at himself for the impasse. "From many different playwrights as well. Want me to order some?"

 

Because Hal wants to change the conversation, and he will respect that. It’s also to his benefit; maybe something lighthearted would work better. Shared escapism has become entirely too real this afternoon and now David is wary about showing so much of his hand again.

 

He stands up and paces, adrenaline creeping between his shoulderblades for absolutely no reason.

 

"That would be excellent," Hal agreed, relieved that David had chosen not to press him further on the topic. Perhaps it was uncomfortable for the man.

 

And why wouldn't it be? 

 

_ He has no reason to wish to discuss thoughts of love and sentiment with you. Leave it at that. _

 

"I could give you some recommendations. I think hearing performances might be just the thing to enliven a dreary afternoon, yes?" 

 

Despite his efforts, Hal worries he has distressed David somehow. Bad memories, maybe. Hal still has a lot to learn about the man if he wants to be sure of never troubling him more than necessary.

 

"Have I... said something to upset you?" He finds himself asking the question before he can stop himself. He's clearly made a mess of things with his blind guessing, and he can handle a reprimand if he's earned it.

 

"Not at all", David mutters, shaking his head in a distinctly canine gesture, wondering if he should say anything else to put the other man at ease. As much as he feels out of his depth, Hal is blaming himself for the awkward moment and that's... exhausting isn't quite the word. David just wants Hal to stop hating himself. Lashing out is the last thing on his mind.

 

_ As if you were a shining example of self worth. _

 

"Haven't had a life normal enough to have come across something like the sonnet". His is a peace offering. "It doesn't mean it doesn't exist, or that I can't appreciate poetry. That's all."

 

Is he doing the right thing, speaking the truth? His childhood had been harsh and violent. Not completely devoid of good moments, but his twin had been missing for a decade, he didn't remember his own mother, and as for his father... 

 

Whatever notions of love David had, he had only found it in stories.

 

Hal and he were alike in that, he guessed, for what he could piece together of the rare occasions Hal talked about his own past.

 

"In any case-- If you have suggestions for a play, I'll be happy to go and take a look at the shop and see what they got."

 

And again he allows himself to voice the words he honestly means, despite the impulse to shut them down, lock them inside his chest, "I liked it, seeing you happy with your gift. Life has nothing to do with 'deserving', but it’s high time for good things to come your way all the same. Even if you don't believe it yourself."

 

"I might be able to concede that point," Hal says quietly. "But if that's the case, then surely I have more than my fair share of good things. A home and a purpose in my work." He swallows.

 

"A friend."

 

His fingers twitch at his side, scratching lightly at the soft fabric of his seat. 

 

"There are countless people in the world who go without  even this, so I should be mindful of my good fortune." He smiles, and it's more genuine this time. "And perhaps not be so shy about enjoying what I have."

 

Everything Hal has said here, it matters. But it's the last part what David wants to put the emphasis on.

 

"I'm all for discipline and schedules", David leans back on the settee, the incarnation of laziness with his legs spread open, just to remark his counterpoint, "As long as it doesn't become counterproductive. Sometimes you just have to stop. Remind yourself why it is you are working so hard. Helps regain a sense of purpose, a healthy thing to have if you're aiming for a life worth living."

 

_ He called you a friend and you should be thankful to have as much. How long has it been...? _

 

"This place isn't half bad, once you give it a chance", he smiles, trying his utmost to push down the awkwardness he feels lingering somewhere under his windpipe. "Working here, it's been nice, don't see myself doing anything else for the foreseeable future."

 

_ Too close. Mind your distance. _

 

"I like it here, Hal."

 

Hal's shoulders ease down gently as he sighs with relief. He says nothing, but returns to the gramophone and turns it to play again.

 

* * *

 

 

"I'm not sure I fully understand." Hal's brow furrows in concentration as he stares down at the paper before him. "Snow is the crystallization of water, particles of ice..."

 

His pencil trails across the page a few more times in slow, sweeping lines that have little in common with the description he's just heard.

 

"It covers the ground. Blankets it in fresh sheets and clings to branches, blows upon the wind..."

 

"But what do you mean by 'colors of snow'?"

 

Standing behind Hal's chair, David hums a little sound of assessment, thinking on how to translate the pictures in his head into words. "There are different kinds of snow...", he starts, knowing that doesn't really explain it. After a pause, he adds, "It can be more or less dense, so the light will affect it differently. But also... the kind of light, depending if it's direct or not. The shapes of it, as it drapes over trees and rocks."

 

"Here", he points at the page, careful about not smudging Hal's charcoals, "It'd be more densely packed. Could even be firn, which is snow from the previous year, at least. And that, on the lake... there's going to be ice, which looks different from snow itself, and also there can be new snow fallen over it, all scattered like powder. Different from névé, which is snow that’s been half melted and then frozen again, becoming more compact."

 

Hal scribbles quickly as he tries to create patterns of texture and light with smudges and lines. His fingers curl around his pencil as he tries to follow David's words, vague forms filling the page. Shadows he understands, but light remains so much a mystery.

 

"All of that affects the way it reflects color. Bluish hues." David’s words come out clumsy, he feels like he's not making any sense. Sounding the slightest bit frustrated with himself, "... I don't really draw but maybe-- May I?" he asks Hal, gesturing at the notebook. "Just to show you where the light would hit."

 

He isn’t sure if Hal is going to allow him something so personal, but...

 

Hal hands his book over readily with a nod, eager to understand David better, and gratified that the man is willing to show him his exact meaning. The frozen north, the cold and ice- these are things he speaks of almost fondly, and Hal wants so desperately to know them as he does.

 

"Please do. I'm afraid there are some times when words simply do not suffice

 

This is what trust feels like, David thinks. He regrets asking for the notebook, just a little, not wanting to ruin the drawing with his rough hands. Suddenly insecure, "You have to choose a point for the source of light like you did that other time, let me see..."

 

He turns back a couple of pages, and it's unexpected to see how much Hal has drawn lately. He can't find the page he's looking for yet.

 

What he does find is even more of a surprise.

 

"Wait. Is that me?"

 

_ Oh. And things had been going so well. _ Hal winces as he feels his chest tighten in embarrassment. He'd only ever meant it as a matter of practice in portraiture, and when he closed his eyes, David's face was the only one he could imagine with clarity.

 

It was the only face he could see at all, truth be told.

 

Eyebrows arched, David gives back the notebook. "Didn't mean to pry. Sorry 'bout that."

 

The lips of the portrait look dry and cracked, and David wets his own before offering: "I think it's good."

 

"I apologize... for the poor likeness." Hal mumbles quickly as  he takes the volume back and tightens his grip around the cover, hoping to seal it shut and ward against further insult against his friend. "It is clear that I haven't much in the way of practice in regard to drawings from life and..."

 

"It was not my intention to slight you."

 

David blinks.

 

"You'd never, come on", and there it is again, Hal's poor self-esteem like a filter, coloring David's words. "I just told you it was good. Clearly drawn from memory, that's all. Memory's never perfect for these sort of things."

 

He puts his hand on Hal's shoulder, finding it tense and hard as a rock. Giving it a small squeeze so the steel of it would uncoil, ever so slightly, he thinks-

 

"Want to try again?" Would that make Hal stop apologizing? As he has found out, Hal's lack of confidence is easily soothed with a little challenge. "I could sit there and try to not move."

 

There's a strained look on Hal's face, but he's clearly happy for the forgiveness- no, the clarification that David thinks he's done nothing wrong. 

 

"You... aren't worried that I'll steal away part of your soul?" He jokes softly, but he's already reaching for his pencils and finding a clean page on which to work. He frowns for just a second at the drawings as he flips by them, each one just a little bit off. Eyes too small, nose too straight, lips pursed tightly in a way David has never done so to Hal, not even at their darkest moments.

 

"Could you take a seat here, in the light?", he asks in the end.

 

"Sure thing", David replies, and moves as requested, sitting relaxed on the couch closest to the lamp. "And, for the record - cameras haven't stolen whatever soul I might still have. I think I'll be alright."

 

He's curious, in all honesty. Hal has talented hands, he wants to see what he can truly do with them. Sitting still is no problem for him either.

 

"Is this pose ok? Want me to put on a certain face, or...?"

 

"Ah, just relax for now," Hal instructs. "If it's alright I'd like to do a few warm ups, just quick sketches of a few minutes a piece." 

 

His pencil is already moving across the page, long sweeping ropes that mimic the lean muscles of David's body. 

 

"After that, if you're willing and able, I might try a longer study with a bit more detail."

 

"I'm game for whatever you attempt", David states, doing his best to move as little as he can now that he's comfortable. "Just go on."

 

He tells himself it has nothing to do with how lively, how varied his ward's expressions become whenever he's focused on something that interests him. But David catalogues the small furrowing of Hal’s brow all the same, the slight biting of his lower lip as his fingers make the pencil dance.

 

"Mm... just a little more... yes... done." Hal beams down at the page, clearly satisfied. "Could you move a little to the left, perhaps raise your arm over the back of the seat?"

 

Hal himself stands and moves his seat to the side, finding an angle more to his liking before setting to work again.

 

Naturally, David had obeyed. And he had soon found out his new position on his perch allowed him to watch Hal up close and personal. He even has the luxury of doing so while Hal is focused on the drawing he was sketching. Normally, they are both the kind to avoid direct visual contact.

 

The flickering lamps cast a warm shine on Hal's gray hair, and David entertains his gaze there, not having much to do beyond keeping his pose while remaining silent. Yellow over silver, not unlike the gold he had once panned.

 

From the start, David had been aware of a certain level of physical attraction towards Hal. Hadn't that been the one of the reasons he had offered a second meal? Normally he is capable of forgetting about it, and it fades into the background. Today...

 

The way Hal looks right now, so much healthier, so much happier... It's hard for David to ignore it.

 

Hal continues to draw, stopping every four or five minutes to change his seat or to ask David to shift his body into another configuration. He doesn't speak much besides the occasional murmured word to himself, his focus too intent on this work to spare any effort for small talk.

 

He's not a fantastic artist, being entirely self taught, and reluctant to spend much time on a hobby at that. But there is something to be said for the act of observing that comes naturally to him, and putting his observations down on paper is ultimately satisfying. 

 

At last he sits back, finally finished with the warm-ups. "I'm going to do a longer one now, if that's alright. Perhaps half an hour? You should just find a position that's comfortable. Feel free to close your eyes if you like."

 

"I'm not bored", David answers, and maybe it's a bit of a non-sequitur to say so. It's not the question Hal is asking, but it's true all the same. It's interesting to have this window to observe Hal in turn, to notice the concentration permeating his face and gesture, the serious and intense focus he puts into his drawings. He does make a move to lean completely on the settee, without changing his angle. "You go on."

 

Hal looks good, now his thin, pale skin has a tint of life running beneath it. Eyes clear and gray bereft of the usual tiredness behind his glasses, some color for the plump line of his lips...

 

Hal may be drawing, but David isn't so good he wouldn't want to commit this to memory, either.

 

The disc has stopped spinning for a long time now, but he chooses to wait until Hal is finished to move again.

 

Admittedly, Hal has a few false starts, flipping a barely touched page away and beginning his sketch anew for a second and third time before settling into it. 

 

The set of David's eyes. The pointed bridge of his nose. The angle of his jawline that melds seamlessly into the muscles of his neck, pulled back as his head rests against the dark wood of the settee. 

 

While everything about the man speaks to his strength and skill, there is something else that Hal has never truly been able to put words to, and he struggles now to commit it to the page. It hasn't so much to do with the way David looks as it is with how he carries himself. There's a world-weariness to be sure, but even in this relaxed posture he looks as though he could spring to action at a moment's notice.

 

There's a tension that never quite leaves his fingers. His eyes never simply rest on any one thing, they're always searching, seeking out information. And the tiny pulse of blood just beneath the exposed skin of his throat...

 

A dark line suddenly marrs Hal's drawing.

 

_ Do not let yourself think of such things. _

 

_ Not here. Let there be one place that is free of your... “abnormality”. _

 

"I think perhaps... that is enough for one day."

 

"Сan I see?", it's his immediate question. David hadn't noticed how relaxed he had become, sitting in silence and watching Hal draw. He stretches, feeling his limbs warm and heavy, the merry heat of the library's fireplace keeping the chill of winter outside. "Nngh."

 

He had lost sense of time, and he files it under his list of transgressions of this afternoon. He'll have all the time in the world to swallow the bitterness of them and let them stew inside his belly, later.  "You look tired."

 

He tries to pass it off as nothing more than a joke, "If you're too tired for the book we had discussed, we could call it a day."

 

At this moment there is nothing Hal would like so much as to retire for the evening. His heart, he realizes, is even pounding a little harder at the prospect. Tonight is one of their "appointments".

 

And yet when he thinks of it, it is not the promise of a meal, nor the heady rush that accompanies his feedings that is foremost in his mind. He finds what he most desires in this moment is the warmth.

 

Not the stolen heat of blood coursing over his lips-

 

-but the borrowed warmth of another body in an embrace freely given.

 

He closes his eyes and nods, a little afraid and hopes David will think nothing of his reservation. 

 

"Yes, I think that might be best."

 

There's a few hours yet for him to regain his senses.

 

"Well", David offers, "in that case, you can keep me company while I heat up the leftovers from lunch."

 

It's useless trying to convince himself he isn't looking forward to the night. Their working relationship is far from normal, and anyone who knew David in his past life would surely rebuke him if they knew.

 

But that doesn't mean he has to talk about any of it. And it's lucky that Hal doesn't know it either.

 

He knows he has changed, and so far, it's good if his employer doesn't know how much.

 

"Yes. Yes, of course. Shall we?" Hal's smile is wilted by only the slightest tint of shame.

 

After David has eaten and the two part ways Hal finds himself back in his laboratory for a time. He makes no attempt to return to his work, instead content to do nothing more than sit at his bench.

 

His finger gently traces the lines of the drawing in his book as he studies it carefully. David's eyes, intense and purposeful as always, but with something else behind them. A softness perhaps. One that Hal had surely imagined.

 

He remains there, transfixed, until it is time to meet David at night.

 

* * *

 

It's  two weeks later when David knocks on the door to Hal's lab, purposefully distracting him from his research once again. Leading him up the stairway to the ground floor he asks, "Do you trust me?"

 

If Hal hesitates to answer, it is only because the bluntness of the question has surprised him. He stares at David for a moment, unsure of exactly what is to follow, but realizes that it doesn't matter. He does indeed trust David. Implicitly. 

 

"Yes. Yes of course I do."

 

The affirmative answer puts David’s doubts to rest and he quickly begins looking for suitable fabric, before ending up removing his neckerchief. He maneuvers around Hal and covers his eyes with the material, until he was suitably blinded.

 

Taking his hand, David leads him to the library in silence, doing his best to pay no heed to the voices in his head, sounding every alarm at his uncharacteristic behavior. This is good, he likes being able to do these kind of things, likes...

 

He lets go of Hal's hand and uncovers his eyes.

 

Next to the gramophone lay a crate with 10 vinyls.

 

"Your idea from the other day", it's the only thing David says for a moment. It wasn’t exactly out of the blue that he had gone through with it, he knows this. Yet he finds himself waiting for a reaction all the same.

 

It takes a moment for Hal's eyes to adjust to the light and he feels a tightness in his chest as he looks up at David, only a few steps away and with a boyish mischievousness about him that is unexpected, but charming. It takes several seconds for him to realize where they are, and what it is David wanted to show him.

 

"More recordings?" He muses aloud as he comes closer to investigate. "Volumes... in parts..." 

 

Lithe fingers trail over the edges of the records and his eyes widen as understanding finally comes.

 

"An entire play? Shakespeare! Ah, a comedy at that! Oh, this is such a welcome surprise!"

 

"So you like it? I was looking at the record store for something new for this week, and came across it." 

 

It would be futile, trying to hide how satisfied he is. Relief courses through David, easing the tension of his limbs. It's gratifying, knowing he has pleased Hal, if he is to judge by his reaction, how his eyes light up and his smile broadens. And David isn't so good he doesn’t want to commit Hal's face to memory right now. His happiness is contagious.

 

Hal not only would never hurt him willingly, he made David's daily life in the manor pleasant. It is only natural he'd want to bring his own input to the table.

 

That is the kind of thing people normally brought up do, isn't it?

 

"Wasn't sure about a comedy at first", he admits. "But thought, maybe something light would be good for once."

 

"To say I _ like  _ it would be quite an understatement indeed," Hal shakes his head but the smile never leaves his features. "An entire performance at my fingertips, a story brought to life. Characters, drama, emotions no longer trapped within their pages but made real."

 

"I can scarcely think of anything better."

 

He pulls the first volume from the crate and runs a careful hand over its cover. Once again it is covered in delicate imagery, but there is no melancholy in Hal's expression today. 

 

"Seeing them like this now, they're almost like old friends. Benedick, Beatrice. Will they sound as they did in my head? Will I recognize their voices when they call to me?"

 

He looks up at David, unable to contain his excitement.

 

"Might we listen to it now?"

 

David just... nods. Why had he been so unaware of the wells of emotion the gift might drawn out of Hal? He never had the opportunity to go outside, to interact with other people. Hal's words make it make sense for him. David, who had never went to the theatre, feels caught into his enthusiasm as well. "Let me put it on for you."

 

He goes to the gramophone and asks for the disc with a small gesture. He doesn't even realize how hard he's smiling, so unlike himself, but it's all Hal and his bright eyes. They bring this out of him, too.

 

Parsimoniously, he puts the vinyl to spin and places the needle. There's a brief interlude of music before it starts.

 

"Come to the couch with me", David says. "I haven't read this one."

 

Hal doesn't think before offering his hand so David might lead him to their seats. If anything, he only means to highlight the sense of occasion, to treat David's gesture with the grandeur it deserves.

 

At first it takes a little training of the ear, to pick out the voices of each actor, a process made more difficult by the fact that some of the players have taken up multiple roles. Hal closes his eyes as he tries to imagine the scenes, but struggles and he wonders if it might not be difficult to David to follow as well.

 

Nibbling lightly at his lip, lost in thought, Hal suddenly leaves the settee and heads to one of the shelves, retrieving a thick tome and bringing it back to his seat.

 

"Might you like to follow the text along with the reading?" He offers, opening the volume wide across his lap.

 

"That's a good idea", David accepts, leaning nearer to get a good look at the text. Hal's fringe obscures part of the view, an unexpected side effect.

 

It's not an unwelcome one.

 

They search for the place the performance is at and find it in no time. But then, the disc goes silent, having reached the end of the scene and also of the recording. "Give me a moment", David says. "I'll be the one changing those, don't you worry."

 

He gives the second disc a spin and the chords of the musical interlude give him enough time to get back to Hal and the book. It's nice, being like this. Sitting right next to each other and enjoying something new. There is a certain innocence to it, and David suddenly worries about staining the moment with his own impulses. His shoulder brushes Hal's, no space between the two of them, and he can smell the scent of his hair, reminding him of now countless feedings. Of the peaceful slumber that comes after.

 

The third and fourth disc almost fly by, time passes so fleetly.

 

Hal is so lost in the story as it unfolds that it comes as a surprise whenever David rises and a sudden rush of cold air fills the void where he's been pressed against his side. How long had they been sitting like that, in such proximity? It had happened so easily Hal had scarcely noticed, but mentioning it would surely make David feel uncomfortable.

 

And Hal desperately wants David to feel comfortable around him. 

 

So instead, he attempts conversation as he waits for David to finish changing the disc and make his way back. 

 

"It is amusing, isn't it? How much trouble can arise from a simple misunderstanding, how something as common as willful pride can keep people from allowing themselves happiness?"

 

"It is. And also, it's very common", David says, sitting by Hal's side again. He mustn't lean on him, he remembers. "Human beings aren't good at being honest, or at communication in general. Opening up is just about the same as showing weakness."

 

Too bleak. He needs to lighten up, they are enjoying this play together. He mustn't ruin it with his views of mankind, the same way he can't soil the moment with the pleasure he's taking from this closeness. "This is comedy, though. It's going to work out in the end, and everyone will be better off from it."

 

Fidgeting in the seat, utterly aware that the dialogue has already started again, he asks, "Are you enjoying it, then?"

 

"Yes, of course." Hal nods eagerly. "Though I have read this particular play more than once, hearing it aloud is a wholly new experience. I don't think I'd ever been able to appreciate the cadence with which these lines were meant to be delivered. It's almost like a song..."

 

"I once read that the defining trait of Shakespeare's comedies were that they ended with a marriage," he adds. "And his tragedies ended with death. Do you suppose that implies he believed love to be the opposite of death?"

 

"Hn. There’s a theme with those being two sides of the same coin, to be sure", David muses. "But there is also this thing with his tragedies that comes all the way from the oldest ones in the book - tragedies end up in death because, through pride, people try to play god, defy the fates, fight their own destiny."

 

He pauses before confessing, "I'm not much for destiny. Or god. Neither has done me any favors."

 

Stretching and making his vertebrae pop, David finds himself wanting to blur his words with a cloud of tobacco, not for the first time. "Can't say I know much about love, either. But happy endings, as unreal as they are... They give people hope. Something this world sorely lacks. I'd even say I like them better."

 

The sudden jolt of objective reality shakes Hal from his dreamlike reverie, and it takes a moment for Hal to process everything he has heard. It shouldn't come as a surprise that David's life experiences have colored his view of fiction and his outlook in general. But perhaps Hal had fooled himself into thinking...

 

...Ah, but no matter.

 

"Yes, hope is maybe the most important thing." He says quietly. "It motivates, and sustains when one has nothing else."

 

"That's no small thing", David says, quite aware he has upset Hal. Is it guilt, what he feels? He knows he's harsh, knows he isn't really a person suited to be anyone's company. But he hadn't meant to...

 

The disc goes quiet again, and he stands to play it again from the beginning, as they hadn’t quite paid attention to it the first time. Thinking, back towards Hal as he tries his best to pick the proper words, "Great deeds have been accomplished out of hope. It may be one of humanity's best traits."

 

He returns to the couch, and finds himself craving their previous ease, side by side. He chalks it up as wanting to comfort his employer - and he _ needs _ to remind himself of his role once in awhile. But he doesn't dare to do anything beyond sitting by his side, lightly leaning on him. "Chin up. The play isn't over yet."

 

"Of course." Hal bows his head just once in an effort to let David know his intent is appreciated, even if his spirits are still a little low, which is confusing in its own right.  He doesn't know any reason why David's pragmatic worldview should be upsetting at all to him. In the moments he allows himself to linger on the thought, Hal assumes it is because he would have liked to have thought that somewhere deep down, David believed in happy endings. Or at least the notion that things would eventually turn out for the best.

 

It isn't just on his own behalf, although having David's vote of confidence in his research would have been rewarding. But Hal always felt a pain growing within him when David spoke harshly of himself and his place in the world, or lack thereof. It would be a comfort to Hal to know that the man who had done so much for him believed that his own future still held promise.

 

"Still several more acts for the story to turn around."

 

"Of course. And more discs", David tries and fails to sound cheerful. He can't help but notice that Hal hasn't really bounced back from his earlier comments, and it's- he isn’t able to name the emotion he's feeling. It's not exactly frustration - but he does know it's directed at himself.

 

It's just, he doesn't have any experience with happy endings, beyond the ones he has read. Or with hope for that matter. Until very recently, he didn't even have the luxury of a future to hope for.

 

He can only do his best to live in the moment, making a valiant attempt to not let his past weigh him down and... What little happiness he has had, whatever peaceful times he has enjoyed, most of them have been here . The whole idea is foreign, it leaves him standing on a narrow bridge, an abyss at each side of his feet. He doesn't know how to deal with it, but he also doesn't want it to stop, and that is risky in itself.

 

The discs keep spinning, and the two of them continue reading along with the book on Hal's lap, a bright spot inside the library, gaslights glowing as the night gets darker and colder, winter raging outside. Finally, they reach the last vinyl. 

 

David can't help but feel irked when he stands up and, as he takes it out of the chest only to discover the sleeve is empty.

 

"Is something the matter?" Hal starts to rise from his seat when he notices the perturbed look on David's face and the way he's lingering at the gramophone. The play has almost concluded, but there is still the important matter of wrapping up all of the myriad plotlines in a tidy package.

 

He joins David at his side and stares at the empty sleeve, comprehension finally dawning upon him.

 

"Should see if it's at the shop", David offers, after a moment. But that doesn't fix the immediate problem. This deep into the night, the idea of anything being open is frankly ludicrous, and they'll still be left without hearing the end of the comedy. "Too late for that right now, though."

 

For a brief instant, Hal imagines David will want to bring an end to the night, which would only allow the vague soreness in his chest to eat away at him. But he can't bring himself to object, nor to make any suggestion that wouldn't make him seem desperate for company.

 

_ Aren't you though? _

 

_ Not anyone's, you've done well enough without…  _

 

_ But  _ **_his._ **

 

Biting his lip, David takes a look back to their couch, where the book lays open. "We could still read it. Won't be the same, but-"

 

This is silly. A juvenile idea to crown an evening full of his own transgressions, which in all honesty isn’t entirely unfitting. "We could read it aloud, if you like."

 

When David suggests a reading, Hal is genuinely surprised. Some small part of him assumed the man was beyond even modest theatrics, even if he could appreciate them in an academic sense.

 

"Would that really be alright?" 

 

Hal immediately takes the book up again and smooths out its pages. 

 

"There's only the last scene, we could alternate the lines between us, switch off the characters. I think at this point we're acquainted enough with them to get the general idea across."

 

"Have never done anything like this", David admits, and there's a sense of unease kneading at the bottom of his belly. The lightheadedness of a misstep, and why? He proposed the idea himself. And it's not like he can take it back, either, not with the incredulous, yet hopeful eyes Hal Emmerich is giving to him. 

 

He goes back to the couch, sits sprawling as he thinks what to say. 

 

"But I don't want to end it like this, with the play almost finished and all."

 

His fingers twitch, restless, He drums a small sequence of rhythm and sudden nervousness over his knee, before adding, "Alternating sounds good. Can't promise it'll be the same as on the vinyls but, let's us try. Want to start?"

 

It feels alright to come a little closer to David on the settee so that they might share the book more easily. The fact that Hal enjoys the additional contact remains, of course, unsaid. 

 

He swallows, tongue now feeling heavy as he prepares to slip into the roles outlined on the page. The friar, Antonio, Claudio. Hal isn't one for acting, finding real emotions difficult to process on the best of days, but even as he makes his way awkwardly through the lines, he finds he is enjoying himself. 

 

He even has to stifle a small laugh the first time it falls to David to take up the role of Beatrice.  Hal is so amused, in fact, that his own lines take him by surprise.

 

_ "Do you not love me?" _ He reads, feeling his cheeks grow warm at the boldness of the question, even if the words are not his own.

 

Things had been running smoothly until that point, even if both of them were stiffer, and less than fluid in emotionally reading out loud than the actors from the recording. David himself had had to repress a chuckle or two as they had progressed, and then...

 

Beatrice, huh. 

 

_ "Not truly" _ , he states.  _ "But in friendly recompense." _

 

There's something in the mood that is shifting, his instincts are warning him. David is wary, but he doesn't want to let it show, not until he knows the reason for it. Leonato, Claudio and Hero prod the action on, teasing the characters, forcing the couple to finally set their pride aside and speak of their true feelings.

 

It's Benedick’s turn again, but he has already seen Beatrice's next words. They get a small, odd smirk out of him. How fitting...

 

After fumbling through the first few awkward lines, Hal is truly enjoying himself, feeling comfortable even raising his voice when he thinks it suits the characters. Without thinking, he even takes David's hand in his own to add emphasis to the scene.

 

_ "A miracle! here's our own hands against our hearts." _

 

It is a blessing David says nothing of it, leaving Hal to falter only slightly as he continues. 

 

_ "Come, I will have thee; but, by this light, I take thee for pity." _

 

_ "I would not deny you" _ , David counters carefully, making no movement to free his hand. Right now, in this moment, it's not only the two of them. It's the play and its cast, it's the wordplay that brings them together as they read along.  _ "But, by this good day, I yield upon great persuasion; and partly to save your life". _

 

His face when he finishes the required line is bright with cheek.  _ "For I was told you were in a consumption." _

 

Slyly, he looks at Hal out of the corner of his eye. The memory of Hal's bloodstained handkerchief, the very first day they had met, is easy to summon.

 

_ "P-peace!"  _ Hal stammers, feeling David's eyes upon him. The feeling of embarrassment lingers still from those early days when Hal endeavored to hide the truth of his nature from David. Have they come so far that such matters were nothing more than a source of amusement? A shared joke between... friends?

 

He finds himself shaking as he works to focus long enough to deliver the next line.

 

_ "I-I will stop your m-mouth." _

 

Though the stage directions are quite clear about what happens next, Hal can only bring himself to take his hand from David's and place his fingers gently upon his lips.

 

Heart beating fast and loud, the sound of his own blood whipping inside his head, David doesn't know how many beats go by as they stay like that - Hal touching his lips.

 

He can't help it - David breaks character, because his thoughts are buzzing like the most confused swarm of bees and the first thing to come out of his mouth is, "Pretty unorthodox way of shutting someone up."

 

His words drag his lips against Hal's fingertips, too, and David clearly feels his every pore tightening, his every hair standing on end. Trying to quiet down the burning of his ears, he adds, "Apologies. Should have expected... Don Pedro goes next", and he clears his throat.  _ "How dost thou, Benedick, the married man?" _

 

Still, he can't quite read the atmosphere. And that in itself is a source of worry and does nothing to quiet down his instinct’s piercing scream of danger, again and again.

 

Though David has managed to continue the reading, Hal is stunned. It feels as though the room has become unbearably cold, or perhaps it is just he who has grown warm, a searing heat starting at the tips of his fingers and spreading through his body.

 

A few more seconds and he is able to force his eyes back to the page to recite Benedick's lines as he reluctantly extols the virtues of love and marriage. Hal's voice shakes through the verses, and he is suddenly very aware of himself and his proximity to David. He wonders if he shouldn't pull away.

 

_ "Come, come, we are friends: let's have a dance ere. We are married, that we m-may lighten our own hearts..." _

 

_ "We'll have dancing afterwards" _ , David declares more than reads aloud, wondering if it's just him feeling out of place and  _ wrong _ , or if Hal's tremulous stuttering is also a signal of him being the same.

 

But if his employer,  _ his employer _ isn't saying anything-- He won't be the one to ruin the end of the play just because of a hunch. They keep going through the lines until they scene concludes. And as Hal recites the final verses, a cheerful  _ 'Strike up, pipers' _ , he fidgets with the corner of his jacket, offers him a small nod and an even smaller smile.

 

"Should have had music ready to finish it off the same way it started", and if the joke falls flat, well, David never claimed to be talented with words on his own.

 

He closes the book, looks for answers to a question he doesn't know on Hal's face. "Did you enjoy it?"

 

At last a question Hal can answer. He shakes himself from his confusion and nods eagerly.

 

"Very much so. Though it still seems..." He frowns, looking down at the book, then back at the phonograph, and the empty turntable that by all rights should hold the final disc of the play. 

 

"...I hate to end it this way." 

 

He steps up to the player and gives it a brief look of consideration before reaching out to find another disc. 

 

"Something fit for a wedding, or a proposal at least. Ah. Here. Perhaps Mister Dacre can assist us?"

 

The record begins softly, static muffling even the first few lines of the song, though the jaunty tune can be made out well enough. Hal turns to face David and smiles hopefully as the tune continues.

 

_ “...Whether she loves me or loves me not _

_ Sometimes it's hard to tell…” _

 

"Oh?", David raises an eyebrow, standing up. Getting closer step by step, unsure of what Hal is asking from him. "I think this one works pretty well as a musical interlude, for the end."

 

_ “Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do _

_ I'm half crazy all for the love of you” _

 

Hands behind his back, he stands next to Hal and looks at the vinyl spinning, the static of the needle sometimes clouding the clear sound of the record. Looking back at Hal, he tries to read his expression-- Surely he didn't mean they should finish the play themselves, the way it was written on the script?

 

"Have to say, I don't know how to dance", David says in the end. Whether in jest or seriousness, he'll lean towards either depending on the other man's answer.

 

_ That _ had certainly caught Hal by surprise. He'd only meant to play the song to bookend the play as it had begun, with cheerful music meant to liven the mood. But David has suggested something so far as a dance and-

 

-though Hal has no training nor skill, he can't deny that the idea holds a certain appeal. 

 

The tune itself is quick and light, melody conveyed by a sing-song voice that keeps the the beat and charm of the lyrics alive. It's not the same as the symphonies or sonatas they have enjoyed in the past but- perhaps that makes it safer, somehow.

 

Although Hal is unable exactly to say what danger it is he hopes to avoid.

 

He offers his hand, nervously.

 

"I'm not much for grace myself," he confesses, "but perhaps it's enough to simply move with the tune?"

 

"Perhaps", David agrees, still unsure of the direction things have been headed for a while now and yet determined to not let it show. He takes Hal's hand... and the song ends, another one beginning after a pause. "Ah, wait."

 

Letting go for a moment, he puts Daisy Bell from the start. It's better if he knows the song, he tells himself, it's one he had heard played plenty at the more urban bars he frequented, those that sported a piano, far away from the ice cold winds of Yukon.

 

Canada feels especially foreign and distant right now in the warmth of the library, the yellow gaslights trimming clear shadows over the expensive rug.

 

_ “There is a flower within my heart _

_ Daisy, Daisy” _

 

Taking Hal's hand again, and not daring to ask himself what the hell he is doing, he swings slowly, guiding the pace as they move. If they are going to do this, the least he can do is to conduct it. And this, this is normal. Plenty of gentlemen danced together at those bars, practicing for happier times when they would have to lead some lucky lady in brighter, more elegant salons.

 

_ “Planted one day by a glancing dart _

_ Planted by Daisy Bell” _

 

Hal had given slim odds to the possibility that David would take his hand versus turning it down with a smile and bow of the head. But once again he was surprised at the man's willingness to bend to his foolish whims. To back out now would only snub that show of kindness.

 

And so, Hal finds himself stepping back, then to the side, and the side again as David awkwardly guides the two of them across the floor. Their feet and bodies move in what could generously be called rhythm, though no court or ballroom had likely ever seen a pair so ill-suited to a dance.

 

Yet, despite their lack of practice, Hal still finds himself at ease. Hand in hand with David, he is calm and safe from everything, except the not-entirely-unpleasant fluttering in his stomach.

 

"Is this how you managed to sweep the ladies off their feet?" He asks as casually as he can manage, taking care that the conversation doesn't cause him to misstep.

 

“Didn't really seek out the ladies that often", David counters, but his tone isn't unkind. Immersed deep in thought, maybe, and not entirely wistful either. "Too much work. I usually preferred to keep to myself."

 

He had taken care of business easily enough when his body had demanded it; he was no stranger to casual encounters. But he had never... put much of an effort into it. Never going all the way to seduce someone thoroughly, through conversation and dance.

 

David suddenly feels keenly aware of how this is progressing, what it's starting to look like. There's the vertigo of a fall suddenly knotting between his windpipe and his navel, even if the way he slowly moves guiding Hal doesn't change at all at the realization.

 

When exactly had Hal come to rest his head against David's chest? How long has he been listening to the beating of his heart as it kept time with the music, soft and constant? And why is it that now, after an enjoyable evening of good company and conversation and the promise of a good meal on the horizon he feels faint as he hasn't in months?

 

It's a strange dizziness and pang of something that feels like hunger. Yet though the sensation wells up within his chest, a dull ache at the very core of him, it is no kin to the desperate thirst of his past. That feeling that is but a memory now that David is here. Thirst. Loneliness. Heartache. All things of the past now.

 

...No, perhaps not the latter...

 

The pull of longing is frightening. David knows that by feeding Hal, he has just replaced the void of one addiction for another. And yet right now, despite the inherent risk of this new vice and the attachment that comes with it, he doesn't stop swaying slowly with Hal until the song ends.

 

It is only the abrupt silence in the room that breaks the spell long enough for Hal to pull himself away. He looks up at David in surprise before remembering to release the hand he holds, and the warmth he loses in the contact is soon found spreading across his face.

 

"I must thank you." He says quietly, eyes trained carefully on the rug beneath them. "For the gift, and your time." The strange tightness in his chest is surely nothing but gratefulness for the man who has done so much for him, and he can scarcely stop himself from showing it the way he did all those months ago.

 

He can't meet David's gaze during the brief embrace he gives him, but hopes his intent is clear enough.

 

"You've made me truly..."

 

But for all his reading and research, Hal cannot discern the word to describe the emotion he feels at this moment. So he simply releases David in the hope that a smile will suffice.

 

"Until tonight."

 

_ “Truly”...? _

 

David simply nods. Control and coherence have escaped him so that he can do nothing but step away from the embrace. "It's alright", he manages, and the pressure squeezing the air out of him is a most telltale sign he is his depth.

 

He turns his back to Hal, reminding himself of guns to be cleaned, traps to set, chores he needs to attend to. He has remained in this library for longer than it's  _ safe _ .

 

"See you tonight."

 

Self-preservation isn't the same as cowardice.

 

David closes the door behind him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay with this chapter. It got a bit lengthy, but now we're back on the track of pre-written material so updates of this story should come a little more quickly. :)


	7. Chapter 7

Pure pleasure surges through his body in strong waves, as he manages to come up for a breath of air. It fills his lungs with icy coldness, crisp and clean and so unlike the heady warmth he's been feasting upon. Refreshed, he returns to the man in his arms with renewed vigor.

 

A soft sigh comes from David and it only urges him on, Hal moving from the man's side to lie almost flush atop him, leaning into the heat of his body and rocking against him in time with the achingly slow ministrations at his neck.

 

It's so good this time, and Hal can feel the fire making its way through his veins, filling him and satisfying his hunger for blood while awakening another.

 

Tonight... it would be alright tonight to say it...

 

"David..." he whispers, mouth still full of the man. "David I..."

 

He leans his head back, lips dyed crimson and gazes down at him, this man who was become so important to him, who has become everything in such a short time. He wants to see his face. Wants to gaze down into his eyes and find he feels the same.

 

… Something is wrong.

 

"David?" He asks, a chill suddenly creeping into his gut. "David! David speak to me!"

 

He bows his head with a whine, immediately laps at the blood smeared on his throat. It's already growing cold.

 

"No..." he cries softly. "Not again..."

 

* * *

 

 

"Hal. Hal!" 

 

When tapping at his shoulder doesn't work, David resorts to shaking him awake.

 

There had been a desperate quality to the sobs he heard as he opened the lab door, the sounds pained and broken. Instinct kicking in and spurring him on, David hurries down the steps and towards the cot, stomach dropping with worry.

 

David had loathed the laboratory from day one.  Its lingering atmosphere was right out of Frankenstein’s laboratory  rather than the scientific environment it was meant to be.  Its eternal cold, humid draft, and that miserable cot Hal insisted on sleeping upon - they all made his nerves crisp and curl in a shiver of recognition. They  spoke of long standing desolation.  He hated that Hal still preferred to sleep down there, when there were plenty of places in the house better suited for decent rest.

 

As his ward continues sobbing all the way through vigil , David does the only thing that comes to mind, and wraps his arms around him to anchor him. He needs to get Hal away from this place.

 

As for Hal, he can sense familiar arms around him. But that is not enough to put a stop to his tears, not when all his heart knows is what he has just seen -  David is gone, won't ever hold him again, and certainly not in that dreamy lull that has carried them both through the night. 

 

Hal has only ever known the warmth of one other person, although it's a faint memory that only ever comes unbidden late at night. The fact that he'll never know her gentle touch again is his fault as well.

 

"David... I'm sorry..." he whimpers.

 

Saying David is familiar with night terrors is an understatement.

 

He says nothing, carries Hal close to him, his arms tightly wrapped around his lithe body. The first 'welcoming' place he can think of is his own bedroom - closer than the living room, more comfortable than the parlor or library. It doesn’t take him longer than a split second to decide.

 

Hal eyes open slowly, dim light of the lab giving way to the brighter glow of the upper floors. He doesn't remember coming here. Doesn't remember anything except the sight of David beneath him, eyes empty and cold.

 

Still unsure of what to say, David knows answering with a late 'it's alright' wouldn't come close to cutting it. His mouth is shut and dry with worry, and so he waits until they're inside the room - pushing the door close with his hip so as not to let go of Hal. He sits on the bed, places him carefully by his side, and puts his arms around him.

 

He waits.

 

It happens slowly, the fading of the dream, reality gradually filling its place. Hal knows this room well, has just been in it- but not. Because  _ there _ he was alone, growing colder by the minute- and here, he is warm, secure. 

 

He realizes it must have been a dream. Despite the vivid details he can recall, it was merely a cruel trick played by his mind.

 

Or perhaps... a warning.

 

"David?" Hal calls once more, body still shaking, but growing more calm as he allows himself to be held. He's not ready to deal with this- not yet. The two of them have their “arrangement”, but Hal realizes now it was too good to last, and that he must put an end to it. He can't let any harm come to David, can't allow himself to repeat past mistakes, no matter what it means for him, no matter what he has to surrender.

 

"I'm here", David answers, and loosens the hold of one of his arms to pet Hal's hair. It's stringy with cold sweat, but he doesn't mind. Wouldn't ever.

 

Watching Hal like this, the surge of protectiveness tightening under his windpipe is almost too much to bear.  It’s familiar, too - David knows how intermingled it is with his duties, how far from professional this job has become.  He's already dealt with the outside world’s threats on Hal's existence more than once  this winter , and gladly so. Hal is terrified of hurting others, but David doesn't know any other life than killing. Doing it for someone he believes worth protecting, for the first time in his life, makes it feel  _ right. _

 

Right now, he’s just useless.   
  
David just doesn't know how to deal with whatever enemies are inside Hal's head.

 

Though he fiercely wants to keep him safe, and despite his sanitized stories, he knows neither of them is adept at actually speaking of the past ... or asking about it. And David finds himself hoping his presence is enough to make Hal talk, when words fail him.

 

"I saw... no... no, I knew. I _ know _ ..." Hal blinks rapidly, trying to clear the tears from his eyes. He reaches up and rubs the palm of his hand across his cheeks, unsurprised to find them wet.

 

It's only because David is holding him that he's able to calm himself. Only because he's close that his mind can begin to clear. He struggles to enjoy it for just a minute more before he does what he must, and tries to push away.

 

"You... you were hurt. No... worse than hurt.  _ Dead _ ." He whispered. "And it was all my fault."

 

David already knows how foolish it would be to say something like,  _ ‘It didn't happen, it was just a dream’ _ . Truthfully, if someone had come at him with words like those after a nightmare...

 

He holds Hal tighter, and there's guilt in that gesture, as well. He doesn't usually, outside of the feedings, and the aftermath of them. But he pushes his remorse aside, needing the time to mull over an answer. Finally, he asks, "Is that what you fear?"

 

Hal's eyes are wide. Is ‘fear’ even the right word?

 

"No... fear is...for things that could happen. Falling from the top of the stairs. Being attacked when I'm alone. This is... David, I  _ know _ it's going to happen."

 

Tears start falling again, remnants of the last not yet dry. He curses himself for not having the strength to stand, to leave the safety of David's embrace. He indulges himself and allows second after second to pass, hating himself for each one. 

 

"You'll die, David. I'll kill you. I know it." 

 

"I know it because it's happened before."

 

David nearly asks, sincerely, if Hal has the gift of prophecy when he hears that. He takes in the new information, analyzes and weighs it. But he doesn't let go of Hal. Doesn't want to.

 

He knows Hal is older than he looks, that he's been alone for a long time. And knows he feels every regret and memory of pain as if the wounds had been suffered barely seconds ago.  It doesn't surprise him that Hal is scared of killing him, just as David himself has been doing his best to quash the fear of losing grasp of his hardly won control again, this time  _ for Hal. _

 

He just didn't know Hal had killed before.

 

"If you want to talk about it... I'm listening".

 

Hal doesn't  _ want _ to, of course. Would rather forget everything. If he had the power to erase every memory from before the night David came to his door he absolutely would without a second thought.

 

But David is still holding him, protecting him in a way that goes far beyond the call of duty, even for an exceptionally trained professional. And Hal thinks he has to explain, has to make David understand. Up til now he'd always treated him as something delicate, breakable. How can he get him to understand that he's also dangerous?

 

"It happened a long time ago. I... I was still very young. I drank from her... I can barely remember."

 

"But it was something like..." He raises a hand and places it on David's chest. "It may have been something like this."

 

An arrangement. One that benefitted Hal, but gave David nothing in return. Worse than that, really. Every time he fed he put the other man in at risk.

 

"I'm nothing but a parasite... and a lethal one at that."

 

David had been content to listen intently, respectfully, until Hal went and said something like that.

 

"You aren't a parasite", and if his vehemence is unprofessional, this isn’t the time to spend energy on reigning it in. Even as he keeps his tone slow and low, Hal's hand on his chest will definitely perceive the spike in his pulse, an acceleration  brought on  by worry and bitterness. "No more than any normal human being anyway."

 

Absolutely convinced of what he's saying, he adds, "I'd even say you're better than most."

 

David is including himself in that number.

 

"So what's the plan? Go back to starving  yourself?" After all the effort it took for Hal to get healthy, happier? 

 

_ You shouldn't care so much, shouldn't show it so much. What are you doing? _

 

What  _ does _ Hal plan to do now, after becoming so used to feeding regularly, knowing full well how much better it has been for him? Will he be able to go back to his earlier diet of livestock, cold and unappealing? He has to. He can't risk David's life when he can get by.

 

He thinks quickly.

 

"Maybe... I could..." He hates having to think this way, viewing David as a resource, realizing just how dependent he is. "I could draw blood from you. Store it. Consume it on my own when I'm less likely to make a m-mistake."

 

It won't be the same. It won't fill him with the same heat, won't be mingled with the salt of David's skin. There will be no beating heart against him, spurring him onward. And he won't...

 

He won't get to see David’s face, hear his voice. He'll have no excuse to linger in his arms, will no longer find himself waking up in his embrace.

 

And it's this thought that saddens him the most.

 

"I... I killed her David. And if something were to happen to you..."

 

Realistically speaking, David knows he should accept the idea. Safety measures were sensible, necessary even, with the special needs of Hal's diet.

 

But he doesn’t  _ want _ to. Something ugly and tight rebels in the bottom of his stomach, making it churn. He bites his lips to quell the goosebumps, and thinks- because thinking on his feet is what he does, and...

 

"How old were you? When it happened."

 

David’s going to have to talk, and he resents the situation for forcing him to show his hand. But he doesn’t resent Hal. Hal didn't ask for him to get attached.

 

"I'm... not exactly sure. Young. Young enough that it's hard to remember her well." Hal grows quiet, trying hard to bring the memories to surface. She was pale, her skin and hair. Had that been his fault too? 

 

"She would hold me sometimes. Pick me up in one arm. And sometimes when we were alone, she'd hum this same tune over and over..." It's difficult to remember, after all these years of trying to forget.

 

"Then one day I came and found her dead on the floor. And he... he told me it was my fault. I'd been too greedy, hadn't shown enough control and she couldn't take it."

 

He can see it so clearly now, as though it was happening before his eyes all over again. Her body spread out in an unnatural slumber, trickle of red at her mouth, eyes empty and wide. The image of David in that same position flickers through his mind and he can't suppress a brief cry of horror. 

 

_ Not for him. Not ever. _

 

David breathes deeply... it's like pulling teeth, forcing the words out. "What we've been doing- I don't want it to stop."

 

It's not easy to say but it sounds a hell of a lot better than,  _ 'I like what you do to me.' _

 

Hal can't understand David's words, can't fathom the meaning behind them. Is it his pride that won't allow him to stop, or something else? He has no way of knowing. 

 

"You... you haven't failed," he tries. "It's me. I'm... the impossible one. You don't have to keep doing this for my sake."

 

"If... if I ever did something to hurt you, I'd never be able to forgive myself." He is crying again, but it is no longer the desperate sobbing of a frightened child. Instead there is just a genuine sadness and perhaps…. frustration? The thing he wants is so close to him, and yet he has to reject it,for both their sakes.

 

The image of the dead woman, the way Hal describes her and his regret with such genuine loss, haunts David into silence. He's seen enough death for it to be routine - it's the old pain, as always, that gets him. The notion of the person before the corpse, deserving of mourning.

 

Yet the mention of failure--

 

_ It's not about that! _ , he almost shouts. But instead he takes time to think, and finds the loose thread hanging, begging to be tugged with the promise of unravelling-

 

_ Young enough that it's hard to remember her well. _

 

David speaks slowly, wanting to make sure of this -  "Hal... You didn't kill me . Not even that first night, as a starving, adult vampire with every reason to lose control and take as much as you could."

 

"You were just a child, with the needs of a child. You expect me to believe you drank someone, drained her, until you killed her back then, all by yourself?"

 

"There.... there's no other possible explanation, is there?”, Hal is almost begging. “Besides,  _ he _ confirmed it."

 

He's spent a lifetime trying to forget about what happened, never bothered puzzling over the half-forgotten memories. What David is telling him makes sense, but he's never entertained another possibility. It's all too horrible to even think about.

 

_ Try though. If only for a minute. He's asking you to. _

 

_ Why, though? Wouldn't this be easier for him? Take less time? Be less painful? _

 

"I don't know..."  Hal says at last. "Maybe I didn't but... there's no way for me to know for sure. There's not even anyone I can ask anymore."

 

For such a long time, he's been alone with nothing but books and research to help him learn about himself. A collection of half-truths and fiction combined with his own observations, guesses, and questions. It's only now that David is here that he even dares to imagine someone else even cares about the answers.

 

"Why?" he can't help but wonder out loud. "Why are you so..."

 

_ Concerned? Worried? Upset, even? _

 

"Why does it matter to you?"

 

Isn't _ that _ an irritating question. David doesn't want to keep explaining further, would rather leave the extent of his attachment unsaid. Keep a modicum of... dignity .

 

_ Easy there. He doesn't know, and he doesn't know other humans to compare them to you. _

 

He breathes in, out, in, out. Buying time despite knowing it will change nothing.

 

"I thought it was fairly obvious I care about you."

 

_ Sidestep. Talk about him. Don't talk about you. _

 

"Already told you,  you're better than everyone I've met. You’re worth protecting."

 

It would be so easy to get lost in the words and look past their meaning. Hal is unused to people, knows little of their nature, nothing of their kindness. David tells him it is obvious; is he upset that Hal keeps questioning?

 

More puzzling still, who are these people David has known that Hal would seem a preferable alternative? 

 

"I won't be in any danger, won't starve even."  _ Probably. _ "But I can’t allow you to risk your life when there's... no n-need."

 

Maybe he'll understand better if Hal uses his words instead.

 

"David, I care about you too."

 

The worst part is, David knows it's true. He's learned to understand the difference in these months together, between things Hal does out of guilt and things Hal does out of care.

 

"Don't mistake me- I don't want to die”, David states, wanting to be clear, wanting-- “But if I had any worries about risking my life, I wouldn't be in this line of work."

 

He hesitates for a second before he spits out, "There are risks that are worth it. This is one of them."

 

David only hopes Hal doesn't ask him to look him in the eye. He's not sure he can.

 

He's not even sure what his own feelings are. Anything more complex than want and worry and care is nebulous, leaves him inexperienced and wary. And he- he is  _ weak _ for Hal. That's the only way he knows how to describe it.

 

Hal winces at the reminder of the nature of David's work, pulls his hand back to rest against his own chest. It's hypocritical of him, isn't it? To claim that he cares about him, say that he doesn't want to put him in danger when that is exactly what he's done since the day they met? And for something as worthless as money?

 

He knows he can't win this fight, that just as David has frightening strength, he possesses as well a proved stubbornness; he will refuse to take no for an answer. He seems insistent on arguing the point for no reason Hal can understand.

 

What is there to be gained from continuing as things have been? Brief and fleeting comfort for himself? He lived decades without it, can surely continue now.

 

_ But can you? Now that you know what it can be like? And with him so near, how long will it be before you break? You're weak Hal, so very weak. There's only one way. _

 

"David..." He can barely whisper. "You... you're...."

 

_ So important to me. The only person I can remember ever caring. The main reason I feel like I have any worth at all. _

 

"You're fired."


	8. Chapter 8

The words linger in the air, heavy and cold, as David struggles to process them.

 

_ Damn _ .

 

Eyes wide open, he breathes. Looks for a way out of the argument as the chill seeps inside him  in freezing coils,  finds himself with no way to counterattack, no possible shield against something as final as Hal not wanting him around . He couldn't have anticipated it would hurt so badly. The idea simply hadn't occurred to him.

 

"I want to stay", he says in the end. Because his last line of defense is made of stubbornness... and honesty, he realizes. "Not because I don't have another place to go. That's never been a problem."

 

"I want to stay with you... because I want it."

 

He’s humiliating himself and he knows it. There’s no shortage of desperation behind his words, as much as he speaks paused, in lowered tones. David breathes, and keeps his eyes low. And doesn’t let go of Hal just yet.  

 

"If you really want me to leave, then I will."

 

He has nobody but himself to blame for this. Hal had made him weak… and David, knowingly, had given him his blessing to keep going. Had opened up for him on his own.

 

Hal feels as though he's on the edge of something, a precipice of comprehension, but a single wrong word might end up being disastrous for them both.

 

"I don't want you to go," he pleads. 

 

_ Not now, not ever. _

 

Hal doesn't know if he's ever been happy, at least not in the way he's read about it in books. He certainly knows he hasn't been so for most of his life. But he's dared to think that if a creature like himself is even capable of such a thing, it might feel a bit like the way he feels when he's with David. It's not just the languid repose after a feeding, or the fleeting hours after the sun has come up. It's seeing David at work. Their tranquil afternoons of reading and music. Watching him cook. Hearing him tell the occasional story from his past, or much more often, having him listen.

 

Until now Hal has always assumed this was all just 'part of the job', but now he's not so sure.

 

He looks back up at David, sees his face so unguarded, emotions on plain display. It's so unlike the man who had come to his door that first night.

 

"I don't want to be alone..." He says quietly. But no, it's more than that. It's not just company he wants, it's  _ David's _ company. And he's too tired to run from it anymore.

 

There's something of a piercing sensation in David’s chest that makes it hard to breathe. Because, of _ course _ it's about the loneliness - and loneliness only. And David reminds himself, again and again,  that he has allowed it to hurt.  He let Hal come close, threw professional distance out of the window at the very first opportunity,  like he was asking for it.

 

He has known loneliness too. What right does he have to crave more? Companionship is  _ good _ , it’s more than he had had in years. Any yet, there is more to it. There has always been, from his side.

 

"The things I do for you",  he says instead, pushing down whatever is bubbling inside him, "It’s not about duty. Wouldn't do them for just anyone."

 

He speaks plainly, "I don't want to leave you alone, Hal. So I won’t."

 

Hal had never really stopped crying, had only managed to calm himself bit by bit as silent tears continued making their way down his face. But at that he begins sobbing in earnest.

 

"You... you're so stupid!" He shouts, realizing exactly how foolish he looks, protesting as he is while still encircled by David's arms.

 

"D-don't you get it? It's because you want to stay... because you do these things for me... because you're the sort of person who _ wants _ to do them, that I can't allow myself to hurt you!"

 

He finds the strength to push himself away, but only manages to land on the floor, stays there, cursing quietly.

 

"Can’t you understand, David? It... it's because I want to be with you that I can't allow myself to do exactly that. I..."

 

He's only ever read about it in books. And it's never looked or sounded anything like this, but he doesn't know another word. 

 

"I...I think I love you." He practically spits,  hating himself for inflicting such a thing on David. "I'm... I'm sorry, I know it's wrong but please, let me protect you...from... from myself."

 

For David, everything falls into place.

 

He would feel foolish about it, but not even with all his personal self-loathing could he blame himself for not thinking of that word. After all it isn't one that has been a part of his world, ever.

 

"I want to protect you", he says, quietly. "But I want to be weak for you too, and for you only."

 

David offers him his hand, asking him in a silent gesture to grab it, to come closer again. There's something tight and hot and spiky lodged between his two lungs. But his voice doesn't break.

 

"I want to stay. But I will also do anything you ask- and that includes leaving."

 

He keeps talking anyway. It's not hesitation that imprints this delay in his words. He just-- David hadn't put his feelings in a tangible, communicable way before.

 

"I can protect myself, you know. But if you hurt me, I'd allow that, too. Wouldn't want to hurt you back."

 

For a second, it looks as though he won't say more. But only for a second. And, he's still offering his hand to Hal.

 

"Maybe I love you too. What then?"

 

Hal looks up, startled by David's words. Slow as they may come, there's something about the way they're said, as though David is simply uncovering an obvious truth, one hidden in plain sight. And there's no hint of shock or disgust in the revelation.

 

Maybe... this is what love is. Maybe if you love someone you have to protect them - even when  their greatest enemy is coming from within.   
  
David, for some reason is offering him his hand, his help, offering Hal everything he wants and needs and seems to think that there’s nothing more here than his own honest feelings. 

Only a monster would reject such an offer.

 

_ But... I don't want to be a monster any more... _

 

_...Then maybe it's time to start acting like a man. _

 

He takes David's hand.

 

David slowly pulls him up and towards him, into his arms. It feels like that's the right place for them both to be - and he's certain he doesn't want any other.

 

If he doesn't speak, it's because all the words worth anything have been said. 

 

David breathes in the scent of Hal's hair. He exhales, shaky with want and relief, and wonders if Hal's lips would be as soft against his as they are against his throat, just as he has done for months.

 

If Hal was to say it wasn't as he'd imagined, it is only because he'd never dared to. Never dared to think he'd have the courage to admit his feelings. Never could have believed David might feel something for him as well. Maybe it isn't love, not the kind that people write about, anyway, but Hal doesn't care. He's never understood the stories anyway, found himself unable to relate.

 

What he does know is hunger. Desire. Longing. These are the only things he ever thought would be a part of his story.  

 

But David has offered him more. New words. Enough to write a new chapter, a new ending. He just has to be brave enough to accept them.

 

It seems silly to ask, but the question spills out as Hal licks his lips.

 

“May...may I... would it be alright if...?" His eyes aren't looking at David's throat.

 

It's not as though David has had a lot of experience with love either. They are in this together - utterly inexpert, with nothing but fiction and dubious second-hand accounts to draw from. 

 

He knows lust and knows, too, how he was never as content on a “morning after” than with Hal draped over him, sleepy and well-fed, skin still flushed from the previous night. But with the way Hal looks at him now, for the first time since they had begun their arrangement... he feels like he can wait to bow his neck to Hal, just a little.

 

"I want to taste you too", he mutters, and closes the distance between them.

 

It's so different, a kiss.

 

Though Hal has little to compare it to, he is no stranger to the scent of him, the flavor of his skin, the sensation of his quickening pulse. And while all of these greet him now, familiar and enticing as always, there is something more.

 

Because he has always approached David with a need, a primitive hunger for the man in ways he could only carefully allow himself to feel. 

 

Now he knows that desire is returned.

 

And that makes all the difference.

 

David isn't good at words so it's not strange if he doesn't have the appropriate ones to describe Hal's mouth, were someone to ask. He just knows it tastes  _ good _ , makes him want to devour him. Payback for all the times Hal stole his breath away, both during the feedings and outside of them.

 

It also feels cold. Feverish, he wonders if he might be able to warm it up with his tongue alone, or if it's his blood what would do the trick.

 

He pulls Hal onto his lap and kisses him long and  _ hard _ . Deeply exploring, tasting with hunger long overdue as his hands curl on the fabric of Hal’s vest, wanting to erase  all space between them.

 

The beating of David's heart is deafening, causing Hal's body to shake.  And the mouth consuming his is voracious, so much so that Hal thinks he himself might be devoured.

 

"Drink from me", David whispers, breathless and urgent. Barely breaking the kiss to talk against Hal’s lips,  biting as he finishes.  "You were going to tonight."

 

Hal had almost forgotten.

 

Can he? Can he still drink from David, who offers himself so willingly in ways Hal had never anticipated and can barely comprehend? A low and desperate cry builds inside of him as he finds he's grown tired of questions.

 

His lips find their place, tongue lapping out in anticipation as his body hums with desire. He's still so unaccustomed to getting what he needs, he's not sure he can handle having what he wants.

 

And what he wants is David, wholly and completely, just as he is now wrapped around him and flowing inside of him. This thing he dares to call love is frightening and overpowering and yet- he thinks he's never tasted anything so sweet.

 

Right now David's a maelstrom, world spinning so badly, so strongly, it's hard to remember that they've had their times of peaceful happiness too. Hal licks him, bites him, and he growls as pleasure hits even before his blood starts spilling into the other man's mouth. David pulls him closer, closer still, and he shuts his eyes as he lays down, overtaken by Hal's hunger and his own, intermingled, unbridled.

 

This is where he belongs, and all he ever wanted. The peace of Hal's fangs on his neck as he suckles from him, the sensual curl of his own nerves as everything melts away but the two of them. God, he's needed it so, and maybe there are quieter ways to love, but David has nothing but himself, and now he gives himself completely.

 

He gasps Hal's name, and for a second he swears he can hear the  frenzied rush of his heart slowing down by degrees, pumping blood into both of them.

 

Hal feels a stirring inside of him that has nothing to do with his appetite. Though there is still a cavernous need within him for everything David has offered, he is gentle, slow, drawing out each drop with labored patience.

 

It's good; it's always been good with David beneath him like this, willing and giving. But now that Hal is able to accept his gifts wholeheartedly and without fear, the experience is made new all over again.

 

He thinks distantly of the first time he asked David to call him by his name, but he never imagined it could sound so sweet as it does now, a breathless whisper against him.

 

It is not just blood nor sustenance that fills him now, but contentment. As he falls to David's side, the place where he feels safe and warm, the place that he dreams of when alone, he thinks he is learning the truth behind so many words this night. Love, surely, but also peace, acceptance. And home.

 

This is different, David realizes. 

 

With the way they space their feedings, usually Hal’s hunger wins over both of them. By the time he starts drinking he’s ravenous, and David follows him right into the mood.

 

The gentle way Hal is drinking right now is new and it makes him shiver and gasp. He feels the slightest bit teased, each sip Hal takes from him drawn out instead of frantic, making David writhe, nearly arch off the bed.

 

He pulls Hal closer instead, the rush of his own blood loud inside his ears.  _ So this is tenderness. _ A soft touch and careful lips nourishing from him - draining sustenance, yet filling David’s belly with warmth.

 

Hal's taken such care this time, pliant lips ever so softly grazing over David's skin. He draws it out as long as he can, not wanting to break contact. There have been times in the past when he entertained the notion that for a brief instant he and David exist as a single entity, hearts beating in unison and almost as one. He'd always dismissed the thought before, but tonight he lets himself indulge in it, and can almost believe David may feel a little of the same. 

 

How can Hal be so good at calming him? Taking the fierce hunger David feels for him, molding it into pulsing, hazy pleasure and peace. It's not less passionate or less intense, just because of how soothing it is. Once again liquid heat licking at him is all he feels, as if both of them were underwater, Hal his rock amidst it all. He drinks, and David growls his name, hands clutching tightly on Hal’s vest, wanting him to keep on suckling forever.

 

What if it's not love? He hasn't known love through soft words, and hasn't know it through the tips of his fingers either. Whatever this is, he wants it. And wants Hal to have it.

 

He has a purpose and that purpose is this man.

 

It's over almost too soon, despite Hal’s efforts. An almost disappointed whine comes from his lips, bright red with the sticky remains of David smeared across them. He consoles himself by nipping gently at the edge of David's stubbled chin, his ear, a soft whimper buried in his hair.

 

Perhaps it isn't love, what they have. This fierce and fervent connection that both comforts and terrifies him; it could be something wholly different. He finds he doesn't care.

 

David pants, and the drag of Hal's lips over his skin makes him smile. Dizzy, he opens his eyes and whispers "I like the way you look right now," reaching to kiss him.

 

He used to hate the even the smell of his own blood, it always put him in a state of alert. But not this time - right now, tasting himself in Hal's mouth, calm is all he feels.

 

Hal could laugh in sheer disbelief. That David should like the look of him at all, even without his blood on his lips is incredible. And beyond that he reaches out to him, draws him nearer as though he's the only thing in the world that is worth protecting. 

 

That he has worth at all is still startling.

 

His lips fit so neatly against David's, as though it is the only place they could possibly belong. And his heart, so used to resting still, quiet and alone now beats out a symphony, calling for this man and everything he offers.  

 

"Say... say it again," he manages breathlessly. 

 

"Say you want to stay... with me."

 

"I'm not going anywhere", David whispers, lips sliding against Hal's as he talks. Still so close,  the better to kiss him again . "Won't leave you."

 

David knows, deep inside his heart, that he can't .

 

It's hard to move, he's so relaxed. But he manages to brush Hal's fringe away from his eyes,wanting to memorize everything about him in this moment. Hal is beautiful like this, lips still stained crimson, his pale skin brought to life as his heart pumps David's blood through his veins. He can feel it, reverberating against his own ribcage. Fluttering like a nervous bird.

 

"It's early but--"

 

He nuzzles at Hal's face, lazy and loose.

 

"Let’s stay here."

 

At this moment Hal feels there's no force on earth that could possibly pull him from David's side. How could he leave, knowing at last that there is one place where he is wanted?

 

He smiles brightly against David's cheek and nods in assent before curling up at his side. 

 

He'd always been told, always believed that the world was a terrifying place, full of dangerous people. Despite his desire to find a cure for his condition or curse (he'd never been sure which) there were days when he found himself wondering why he should want to be a part of such a place at all.

 

But now the answer is so clear, so close, and so warm in his arms.

 

David hasn’t ever felt this safe.

 

People with a background like his were dangerous and best kept at a distance . People without it could never understand the kind of life he had led. David was never able to truly relax around civilians - not even when he took them to bed.

 

The thing they had in common, they always wanted something. All of them - even if it was just to inflict pain. And Hal... Hal didn't. Which had been the single, most powerful reason David had wanted to give to him from the start.

 

With Hal by his side, David can slip into a sound and dreamless sleep. He feels less broken, jagged edges soft enough to welcome him into his arms. He feels... like he can accomplish something other than mindless carnage; finally finding direction, and worth.

 

He nuzzles at Hal's hair, boneless and floating. If he could do this, for the rest of his life... well…. He can't imagine another way to be happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this chapter was worth the wait... but there's still a lot more story to tell. <3


	9. Chapter 9

 

"Aren't you tired?", David asks one afternoon; it seems completely out of the blue.

 

Thick gray clouds diminish the shine of the sun outside, and it's late enough for the skies to be getting dark. He's been thinking a lot on what he's about to propose, but today the weather is finally on his side- not that it's noticeable in the dim, windowless illumination of the lab.

 

It’s a cold spring, but there hasn’t been rain for a couple of days and that’s enough for him.

 

"You’re always stuck inside this house", he clarifies. "Aren't you tired of never seeing the outside world?"

 

He puts his hands on Hal's shoulders, fingers pressing and massaging to relieve the stress inhabiting there - a silent plea to turn around and look at him.

 

The excuse he throws on may sound flimsy. He doesn't care.

 

"The sun is setting soon, and there are some parcels I need to retrieve from the post office. Come with me."

 

Normally Hal would have gone through extraordinary lengths to avoid setting a single foot outside. It wasn't due to disinterest, but a well founded fear in what might greet him. Although he wasn't likely to burst into flame in the sunlight, it still tired him to be outdoors for extended periods of time. And there was always the threat of a hunter tracking him down, to say nothing of the possibility of falling victim to a much more mundane crime.

 

And should there be another incident, something that caused him to lose control...

 

Well, such a thing didn't bear thinking of.

 

But he is doing so much better these days. Feeding regularly. Sleeping regularly, and never on the basement cot, David having gotten rid of it once and for all. He wouldn't be likely to slip up, and at night the streets would be emptier...

 

Hal looks at David nervously, knowing full well that if it wasn't for him he wouldn't even be considering such a thing. But David has never let him down, and his invitation is laced with a promise.

 

_ Come with me. _

 

_ I won't let anything happen. _

 

_ You'll be safe. _

 

And it isn't just the remnants of a sense of duty from the job he'd originally been hired for. He knows David says these things because he means them. Because he wants Hal to have more than just what he  _ needs _ \- he lets Hal dare to dream he might have what he wants.

 

Nervously, he nods.

 

David can't help but smile at Hal, his affirmative answer.

 

"Can't take you out for dinner, but I'm sure we'll find something to do."

 

Even a stroll outside would be good. David is used to isolation as well - he knows this is something they have enabled in each other. But it has come to the point wherein he was getting antsy. As much as he works out indoors, he misses going for runs. And more than once he has found himself thinking fondly of the dogs he had left in Alaska.

 

"Do you need time to prepare yourself? Have a sip before going out, just to make sure you don't get hungry?"

 

"We'll never make it to town in time if I do." Hal pulls himself up from the lab table and smiles faintly at David. "I'll be fine."

 

He knows nothing is likely to go wrong. But years spent almost entirely alone mean he isn't adept at social situations. One of the reasons he originally found living with David so amenable was because the man didn't seem to mind long silences, enjoyed them, even.

 

"Just give me a few minutes to gather my things."

 

He goes upstairs to clean himself up, washes his face and brushes his hair, which has a tendency to hang low in his face as he works.  It’s gotten long again - nervously, he ties it up in an attempt to look readier than he is.

 

Town. With David. It has it's appeal, even if they can only enjoy it at night.

 

Saying he wasn't excited would’ve been a blatant lie. Of course the word "excited" covered all manner of emotions from anticipation to anxiety. 

 

He finds his coat and puts it on, taking uncharacteristic care in straightening his tie and the cuffs of his shirt as he mumbled to himself.

 

"It's been a long time since you've been out, best look presentable."

 

The fact that he'd would in fact be out with David also crosses his mind. 

David waits for Hal at the entrance, meanwhile, already prepared. Holsters in place, covered by the long coat he only wears outside - he needs little more than that.

 

He will absolutely be attentive to how Hal feels as they go on the streets, doesn't want him to get overwhelmed. It does make him nervous as well, knowing he's safer inside and yet-- he wants to do this. Wants Hal to have a good experience, and to ask him if the world had changed too much since the last time he had ventured out of the mansion.

 

There’s already a few choice locations in his mind, too.

 

At last, Hal joins him at the door. Even though he knows he was only accompanying David on a few errands, for Hal, it might as well have been the start of a grand adventure.

 

"I haven't been to town myself in..." he thinks, trying to tally up a number but failing. "A very long time. Thank you."

 

"Don't worry- I had figured as much", David replies, and his smile is slight but it's there . He can't quite help it. Hal already trusts him to protect his life, but he understands that going out with him after god knows how many years avoiding the outside world is on an entirely different level.

 

He leans down and presses a soft kiss on his lips, fingers sliding to cradle and stroke his cheek.

 

"Nothing bad is going to happen. I promise you."

 

There's only one walking stick in the sparse umbrella stand by the entryway, and that's fine with him, it's not like he is a gentleman anyway - David hands it to Hal, smile evolving into a grin.

 

He opens the door.

 

Hal isn't thinking when his hand creeps up and finds its place in the crook of David's arm, but he doesn't seem to mind. The air is cool; it's a good thing he elected to wear one of his heavier coats. It's hard to notice, though- face burning as brightly as it is.

 

Soon the two of them are on the outskirts of the town, Hal already craning his neck to see as far as he is able. Though the sun is setting, the streets are still bustling with activity. It's the weekend, he realizes, and those with the means to do so are seeking out evenings of what they so amusingly call "diversions".

 

It might not be such a bad thing, to be distracted from the daily reality of one's life- if only for an evening, he muses.

 

"You said you had business to attend to? Where are we headed?"

 

"I have a package to check on at the post office, but that's just around the corner", David answers. It's comforting, the weight of Hal's arm on his. There's nobody around, so he squeezes it gently with his free hand.

 

The dusk seems positively merry, with all the people outside. They walk slowly, so Hal can take as long as he likes getting used to it.

 

"London is too far away to be an option. We could go take a stroll at Runnymede Park or hail a carriage and go downtown at Windsor. What do you say?"

 

"You really think it would be alright?"

 

Hal’s eyes are wide as he follows the movement of passers-by, a few carriages bustling through the street, cheerful voices and laughter coming through the windows for an instant before they disappear.

 

It's strange how vibrant and active the night is, and yet still somehow peaceful. Not an eye is turned toward him, everyone too involved in their own plans to pay either of them mind, which suits him just fine. It's enough to simply be out amongst the populace. Having involved interactions might be one trial too many.

 

"I'm worried I might startle the horses," he says quietly, just loud enough for David to hear.

 

It is a distinct possibility.

 

"... True. But Hal, have you actually tried? Or is it lore?"

 

He gives Hal a small squeeze on the arm with his free hand, nodding.

 

"We can do a test with Grantaire when we go back to the manor. He's a well-behaved horse."

 

David hopes it's simply lore rather than fact. The idea of teaching Hal to ride suddenly tantalises him with the image of nightly escapades into the country.

 

... He'd never understood the English tradition of fox hunting on horseback, but he doubts Hal would want to take part in such a thing anyway.

 

Hal is thoughtful during their stroll, tries to sort out where his assumption comes from. It isn't as though there are proper textbooks on the subject of vampires, merely literature. And while some of it is written in the form of journal entries and logs, it's nothing like hard scientific data.

 

"I don't know, really. I merely assumed. We never kept animals on the property but before you arrived I only ever ate..." 

 

He hates talking about it even now. It's been months since their arrangement took shape and David has assured him that his days of consuming the blood of livestock are over. But he can't help but imagine some part of him will always reek of the scent of a predator, that any animal he might approach would just _ know. _

 

"I would like very much to try, if you think it's wise."

 

"I do, yes. Tell me when you feel prepared for it and we'll make an attempt. Grantaire has found a good home in the manor's barn - he isn't going away anytime soon."

 

Keeping their leisurely pace, David guides the way. The park at night had a hint of danger to it that had nothing to do with creatures and all to do with muggers, but the venture is a calculated risk. And David knows he can repel any threat that may come their way.

 

The post office is, thankfully, still open when they pass by. With a small gesture, David indicates for Hal to step inside with him. The package he's waiting for - and he won't say what's in there, either - hasn't come. But there's an unexpected letter waiting for him, with no return address.

 

His schooled features won't allow him to show how much is worries him. Instead, he puts the letter with little care inside his breast pocket, unopened.

 

Though the post office is near closing, it is still bustling with activity. David was not the only one to put off his business til the end of the day, and the postal workers are also hard at work sorting and cleaning just beyond the counter. Hal enjoys the warmth of the small building and takes in the board of postings for all manner of items to be bought and sold, as well as offers of employment. He wonders idly if David has ever offered his services in such a manner, and to whom, but the idea seems foolish so he leaves it for now. 

 

He takes notice of the available livestock; horses seem widely available in any color or stature, and wonders if he might someday soon purchase one of his own. There is a definite appeal to the idea of riding, especially if he might do so with David. It's the sort of thing a normal person might do for enjoyment, and Hal is determined to learn more about such things.

 

It is only a matter of minutes before David collects him, no package in hand. 

 

"Has it not arrived then? A pity. But perhaps for the best, lest you end up carrying a parcel throughout town the entire night."

 

"Would've been inconvenient", he nods, and does his best to not let his mind wander. He's here, far away from  _ them _ , and he's with Hal. 

 

He offers him his arm again, and also a confirmation:

 

"About Runnymede - I think it will to do you good, to see some green. The Manor has space for a garden, but that soil hasn't seen anything else beyond undergrowth in decades."

 

He wonders. Perhaps he could do something about it?

 

"It's mostly a quiet place. Not much in the way of diversions, just animals and plants, boats on the ponds and the riverside. There's going to be some people going on strolls, but as it gets darker, we'll likely be on our own."

 

"Still sound good to you?"

 

"I think I'd like that very much," Hal said with a nod. The idea of a park was indeed a tempting one, and although he would never have gone outdoors if he thought there was any real danger of his "baser instincts" getting the better of him, sticking to less populated areas made him feel more at ease.

 

"The manor grounds..." he thinks out loud as they continue on their walk. "I've had no luck cultivating anything, it seemed easier to let nature take its course. The sunlight was always too exhausting and even when I thought a houseplant or two might be nice I tended to lose track of time. Forgot to water them." He sighs lightly. "I always felt rather like I'd let them down."

 

But a proper park, with landscaped gardens and hedges sounds exciting. And there may even be fountains, and had David mentioned boats?

 

"I've never been out on the water," he says quietly. "Would it be alright to watch from the shore?"

 

"Of course", David answers, and gives Hal's arm a little reassuring squeeze with his free hand. "You don't have to force yourself to anything."

 

He pauses for a moment, "I'm glad you dared to come with me at all"

 

It's incredible, that Hal feels healthy enough (and trusts David enough) to break a state of self-imposed isolation that lasted decades. How great it is, that he's braving the very last rays of sunshine before dusk settles in just because they are together.

 

(Maybe it's not love. But maybe it is.)

 

Moreover, Hal's words about the state of the manor cement his idea of working on the grounds. As much as he enjoys holing up inside Hal's library, physical activity is something he misses dearly, and the exercising he does every day doesn't really curb his need for open spaces.

 

"Say, Hal. What kind of plants would you like in a garden?"

 

The question catches Hal off guard, who had never spent much time thinking of plants or gardening after his own failed attempts. To be honest, he'd only ever kept the house in good enough condition to live in, but had fallen short of actually making any sort of aesthetic progress. It wasn't until David had moved in that he'd felt guilty about this at all, but he'd never said anything, merely set to work making repairs and adjustments.

 

"Maybe... something useful," he ponders quietly. "Vegetables maybe? Or... are there plants that you could use? With medicinal value or something like that, perhaps?"

 

He has no use for edible plants of course, but he doesn't relish the idea of David working so hard without a tangible benefit for himself.

 

"Vegetables, that sounds good", David agrees. He likes useful. He had wondered briefly about a garden, but having an orchard in the backyard sounded like a fun project.

 

Still. He could always take out the weeds in the front yard as an activity on the side. Let those rose bushes he had seen breathe.

 

(Would Hal like the flowers?)

 

"Maybe a greenhouse would be in order. Tell me if there are any medicinal plants that would help with your research, too."

 

The railing of the park looms in front of them. Arm in arm, they go inside.

 

Although the light is quickly fading, the park is open through the night and numerous residents of the east side are enjoying leisurely walks, or simply making their way home at the end of the day. If anyone thought anything of their walking in close proximity, they say nothing of it, Hal looking weak enough that he might need some kind of caretaker. It is a little embarrassing, but if he was honest, he is glad not to be under any additional scrutiny.

 

"A greenhouse?" He ponders aloud. That was more involved than simply cleaning out the existing flowerbeds. A project like that would take months, possibly even years to complete. Does that mean that David intends to stay with him that long? They had never really discussed the long term, and while Hal had assumed David might stay with him as long as it took for him to make some progress with his work, it wasn't as though he was obligated to do so.

 

And as for after...

 

Would he still want to stay then? If Hal is successful in finding a "cure", then theoretically he'd no longer be in danger of being hunted down. David would have no professional reason to stay. And it wouldn't be as though they'd have any need to continue their... “arrangement” either.

 

Lost in thought, Hal's expression begins to grow more serious and he falls into silence.

 

David notices the sudden change in his companion's demeanor, the unexpected tension that went with the more somber expression on him as he thinks.

 

He reviews his own words and, unable to find anything that might have triggered the change, he asks,

 

"Hal? Something bothering you?"

 

He isn't sure if it's the park or something else, either.

 

Suddenly feeling embarrassed for his rude silence and plenty awkward about the reason, Hal stammers through some poor means of explanation.

 

"A greenhouse... that's quite a project isn't it? For one person it would take you...in addition to everything else you do around the manor..."

 

_ Perhaps it would be better to simply get to the point. _

 

"David? How long…? I mean. If I'm successful and manage to find a solution to..."

 

Hal is harshly reminded that getting "straight to the point" is not amongst his skills. He swallows and takes a deep breath before trying again.

 

"Are you really alright thinking that far into the future?"

 

... Oh. So, that had been it.

 

Maybe Hal will forgive him, for falling silent as well. It's not that he doesn't want to answer. It's more like he doesn't quite know how to put that answer into coherent words.

 

In the end, he speaks plainly, "I'm not good at thinking of the future. Never felt like I had one."

 

David realizes he's itching for a cigarette for the first time in months since he quit for Hal. It's hard to think of adequate sentences with nothing to fidget with, and there's people strolling by, it's not like he can worry the knuckles of his companion freely, as he might have done back at the manor.

 

Looking far beyond them, he adds, "But I already said I wanted to stay. You finding a cure, that won't change that."

 

Hal covers his own hand as soon as he realizes it's trembling, but keeps walking as though nothing is wrong. Of course,  _ of course _ David is intent on staying. He's proven to be nothing but honorable and kind to him. He'd probably stay even if the two of them weren't... whatever they are. It's the sort of dedication Hal has only read about in books, but has always assumed is rare in the outside world.

 

"I didn't mean to question you," he says quietly by means of apology. "I'm glad you want to stay. It's been so much... easier with you around." 

 

He doesn't just mean the feedings. Or the fact that David insists on Hal sleeping at regular intervals, in a bed (and usually at his side). 

 

No, Hal has found even his daily tasks easier. He's come to experience a renewed zeal for his work now that it's no longer simply a means of cleansing himself from the scourge that makes him what he is. Truth be told he had never planned anything beyond finding a theoretical cure, it was as much compulsion as purpose. 

 

But now, he thinks he might finally have a reason to change. Something to look forward to. After all, it might be nice to come with David and stroll down this very same path  in the light of day.

 

There's something in the way Hal speaks that gives David the inkling that what he meant wasn't completely understood.

 

He doesn't correct Hal.

 

It's hard enough, to navigate his own feelings. Defining them, while not out of the question...

 

David knows there's something  bitter twisting at his gut when Hal speaks of him staying as if it were a matter of base loyalty.

 

"I'm happy with you", he says instead. Because it's something he can offer with certainty, instead of  _ 'I still don't know if this is love, but I need you. It just might be'. _

 

They haven’t spoken of feelings since that winter night for the same reason.

 

The park, at least, is peaceful enough to give him serenity. Keep him calm. It's no Yukon, too orderly and trimmed, but it's old and green and he reminisces all the same.

 

Hal has experienced precious little in the way of happiness during his life. His existence being one of solitude and penance for his very nature. Feelings like joy and happiness are surely reserved for those who deserve them.

 

_ He's happy? With me?  _

 

He can think of no one more deserving than David, who works hard and gives selflessly- why then, does the man say the word as though the concept is alien to him? Hal realizes he's been selfish, so fixated on his own self loathing he's never really asked David about his own life.

 

"I'm... pleased to hear it," he says, inwardly chastising himself for the gross understatement. Perhaps silence would be better for a while. He'll be less likely to say something wrong then.

 

It isn't difficult, even at dusk there is plenty to see, and Hal is surprised at how crisp the colors and textures of the night can be. 

 

"Look there!" He points to some softly rustling underbrush. "A family of squirrels?"

 

David is taken out of introspection by Hal noticing the local fauna, which is something he's grateful for. Nothing good could possibly come from him overanalyzing the other man's words, or lack of thereof.

 

"Aye. They are", he nods, and turns to Hal: "Care to try and get closer?"

 

He wonders briefly about something to feed the squirrels with, and after looking into his pocket, he finds a cube of sugar he hadn't fed to Grantaire earlier.

 

Letting go of Hal's arm, he hands him the cube and instructs:

 

"Move very slowly and stop when you're 15 steps away from them. Show them the sugar. With any luck..."

 

There's the present to live in. Neither of them need anything like the past, or the future, or any other feelings than joy right now.

 

Hal accepts the sugar and slowly approaches the bush where a number of squirrels are making quite a large amount of noise. When he's still several paces away, a single creature opts to emerge from its hiding spot and inspects him curiously. 

 

Luckily for him, the wildlife in the park is well acclimated to day-to-day dealings with humans, and the squirrel seems more curious in what Hal has to offer than afraid. Thinking of David's instructions, he carefully bends down and places the single cube of sugar near the edge of his boot.

 

"It's okay," he says quietly. "I don't think Grantaire minds that I'm sharing."

 

In a single, swift motion the squirrel runs to the cube and picks it up before running off in a flurry and disappearing back to its nest. It was perhaps not a storybook moment, Hal hadn't ended up with a new pet or even touched the animal, but at least it hadn't run in sheer terror at the sight of him, which he'd always considered a distinct possibility.

 

"Seems like he was happy with the gift," he tells David as he draws himself back up to his feet. "Dessert for the family, maybe?"

 

"Looks like it", he answers, and despite his normally serious expression, it's obvious he is pleased. "And it looked like he wasn’t scared of you at all. What do you think?"

 

He should be relaxing. Things are going according to plan - and it’s good to see Hal like this, discovering new things and interacting with things beyond what laid in his lab.

 

"We could see if there's still anyone selling bread crumbs for the pigeons by the fountain for a penny, if feeding fauna tickles your fancy", he suggests.

 

"That's a thing people actually do?" Hal asks, already craning his neck to see if he could locate a potential vendor.  "I thought maybe it was just make believe. Do you think there will be anyone so late?  And the birds, when to they go to roost?"

 

Without waiting for an answer he has already begun heading for the nearest fountain,  the sound of bubbling water drawing him nearer.

 

He beckons to David, ushering him closer, but stands a few feet clear of the fountain's edge. "We're meant to throw coins in,  aren't we?"

 

"That’s the tradition, yes. You're supposed to make a wish if you do", he answers. He pauses and adds, " As for the birds - it is, indeed, too late for pigeons. But maybe you'd have luck with the ravens. They're pretty smart birds and they still go out at dusk."

 

David's pretty sure he knows what Hal might wish for if he could. And he knows it's just make-believe, but he's not about to remark on it.

 

If something like that raises his spirits...

 

He gives Hal a coin. "Want to try?"

 

Hal presses the coin between his fingers, although it fails to grow warm in his hands. A wish? He'd given up making wishes a long time ago, having reconciled at an early age that they never came true. Not for people like himself, anyway.

 

But maybe... for someone who deserves it...

 

He nods, and approaches the fountain, thinking hard.

 

_ If there's any truth to this at all, any power in tradition for its own sake... and if I'm allowed to make wishes... _

 

He glances back over his shoulder at David, gives him a faint smile and drops the coin into the water.

 

_ Please, please let him be happy. With me. _

 

David watches.

 

There's something purposeful in the way Hal moves when making his wish. And he wishes silently, too, for the end of the curse - which is what he reckons Hal must be wishing for.

 

Hal deserves to be happy. And as much as he wants to be the one to give that happiness to him, he isn't the one who has studied how to heal him.

 

Taking the chance, since they are alone, he puts his arm around Hal's shoulders and pulls him close for a second.

 

Hal jumps in surprise, and for an instant he wonders if he hadn't spoken aloud. But David says nothing, makes no comment that indicates he'd read his lips or his mind, and Hal is forced to accept the idea that he is holding him simply because he enjoys it.

 

Maybe it isn't time to give up on wishful thinking. Not just yet.

 

"Shall we continue?" He speaks quietly, eyes still trained on the coin he's dropped beneath the soft ripples of the fountain.

 

"Whenever you want", he answers, just as quietly, but he doesn't move just yet. Doesn't want to - there's a certain frailty in this moment, Hal's features so close and enlightened by the nearby streetlamp.

 

He kisses Hal's cheek before letting go.

 

The warmth in Hal's cheeks is surely not only from the brief touch of David's lips and he can't help but raise a hand to cover the place where he's been kissed, as though sealing in the memory.

 

Something else catches his attention, a sweet scent in the air. In the distance, just beginning to close up for the night is some sort of vendor.

 

"Something caught your attention?", David asks.

 

"What's that smell?" Hal tilts his head, tries to get a better view of the man's cart. The spiced breads he's putting away haven't been warm for hours, but he can still detect their distinct aroma in the air.

 

The smell of the pastries tickles David’s nose, reminding him he didn't eat before going out, either. "I could buy some”, he offers, carefully wording the implied meaning, "and share with you."

 

"Really?" 

 

It didn't take long for the two of them to work out that David's habits had an effect on the perceived "taste" Hal experienced later. But aside from the fact that David had focused on making iron and protein rich meals for himself and given up smoking, neither of them had ever approached the topic with such directness. That David is now offering so willingly, and refers to the arrangement within earshot of other people is... oddly thrilling.

 

"Yes, I think I'd like that very much," he nods.  "What is it that hangs so thickly in the air now?"

 

"Oh, maybe that's the cardamom, or the cinnamon breads perhaps. You've got a good nose on you to be able to smell them now they're cold." 

 

The vendor packages up two of each in brown paper and ties them up with a string. "Good with tea, got another day or two yet."

 

"Thank you", David says to the vendor, as he pays for the breads.

 

He had been glad to buy, and now is excited now himself. He's hungry too, and the breads did smell appealing, now he had them in hand. And he's eager to try something new. How long would it have to be, for Hal to taste the spike of sugar in his blood?

 

As they walk away, he suggests softly, (since they are still within hearing range) "Are you up for a small picnic in the grass, Lord Emmerich?"

 

And if he's teasing a little with the title, well- it's hard to not be in high spirits with how well this has been going.

 

Hal quirks his head at the joke, pondering for a moment.

 

"I’m not sure that works, exactly. Unless you're offering to be my vassal. Working the land and growing food under my watchful eye... hmm. I suppose I'll have to put you to work in the garden after all." He smiles broadly and a rare laugh escapes him.

 

"Of course it's all backwards, it's not as though I'm offering you protection. Not that I imagine there's anything in the world you're afraid of."

 

He's gotten so carried away by his historical musings he almost doesn't realize they've come to stop in a quiet grove, away from the crowds. The lamp light doesn't quite reach out this far, but the moon is being kind enough to share it's glow. It's enough to make out the planes of David's face anyway, see the kind smile there.

 

A picnic then.

 

For the both of them.

 

"There are some things", David says quietly. But his smile doesn't waver, nor the warmth in it. And maybe he means it a little too much, when he adds, "It would be an honor, being your vassal."

 

The grove is small and secluded in comparison to the gravel path they had been walking through before. The grass is positively cushiony, albeit slightly damp when David sits on it, offering Hal his hand so he'd sit next to him. "I know this isn't quite proper, for an Englishman. But you know how I don't care much about the formalities."

 

He takes out one of the breads from the bag. His expression is nothing short of cheeky as he takes a bite, looking into Hal's eyes.

 

The edges of Hal's eyes tense at David's quiet admission, but it's quickly forgotten as he's gently guided into the grass. And the look David gives him as he takes his first bite of the pastry is absolutely...

 

...well, Hal doesn't know the word. But he takes a sharp intake of breath, allows his tongue to dart at the edge of his lips in a brief lapse of decorum.

 

"What's it like?" He pleads. "Tell me."

 

"Very soft", David answers, chewing slowly before swallowing. He licks his lips too, as he makes time while he looks for ways to explain - he enjoys this, accurately describing a taste for Hal. "Like a sponge that can melt into your mouth, between the heat and the wetness. You can feel the taste of sugar and yeast here", and he touches under Hal's throat, "and the smell of cinnamon here" - and he touches lightly under his nose.

 

Slowly, he unties his neckerchief.

 

"It's good."

 

'Wish you could taste it yourself', he doesn't say. Because Hal will, in his own way.

 

"Come here and you'll see how sweet it is."

 

Though they're alone, Hal can't help but glance over his shoulder, but it's difficult to keep his eyes off of David, exposed as he is.

 

He draws closer, til his lips are just below David's ear, and he can feel his pulse quicken just inches away.

 

"Only a sip," he whispers. "Just to taste it, once."

 

David shivers, and it's so good, to feel Hal's breath near his skin. For it to be warm - a sign of just how often they do this now.

 

"We're alone. Go on."

 

He tilts his head, arching his neck to offer himself. The sugar is making his blood rush, too.

 

It's impossible to resist something so willingly offered and Hal wastes no time, the flash of white sinking into David's skin without another breath. 

 

David groans as Hal's fangs pierce through him, the motion known and welcome and as dizzying in its pleasure as the first time.

 

It's not the same of course. Hal might not ever experience the play of textures and tastes as David does, but if he concentrates, replays his words in his head he can just begin to seek out the flavors he mentioned. 

 

There is sweetness, of course. So simple, basic and almost always there when David permits him to feed. But beneath that, something pricks at the edge of his tongue, it's not painful, but surprising, the way it seems to play off of the scents he'd breathed in moments before. 

 

And of course, everything he experiences is colored by the man pressed against him. The very taste and essence of him, against his tongue, flowing over his lips. It's familiar and yet every drop is intoxicating, warm.

 

He's loathe to pull away.

  
  


They've done this so much there are permanent scars on David’s neck. He loves to trace them with his fingers as he shaves in the morning, or simply feel them when he's alone. He loves to know there's a physical, unfading mark in him Hal gave him, to match how permanently branded as his he feels.

 

David holds Hal close, flush against him, and doesn't even try to mask his whine of disappointment when he pulls away from him. But he knows Hal's reasons, realizes they had best keep their composure here. He hasn't forgotten where they are.

 

That David is capable of making such a pitiable sound, that Hal is the one to coax it from him... it's a heady sense of power he feels and the joy is evident on his face as he carefully wipes his lips, sucking the last drops of red from his fingers.

 

"Could you taste it?"

 

"I think so, or at least I could imagine I could, which is near the same."

 

He runs a hand down the side of his face, now searing hot in the night air.

 

"It's different than after say- your supper. Or that night you had a glass of wine just before. I can... pick things out but its difficult to put a name to them without anything to compare them to."

 

"But I liked it, very much."

 

There's always a component of danger to the feedings - because of how relaxed and at peace David feels after them, guard lowered. They're in public now, and he knows he shouldn't be parting so willingly with his state of alert. And yet...

 

And yet right now, he can only smile at Hal. Hushing down the heat in his own belly at the hypnotic sight of him, sucking his fingers clean. This isn't a good place for him to get worked up.

 

He nuzzles the side of Hal's face, smile deepening at the warmth he finds, putting color in his cheeks.

 

"Glad you did. I like sharing these things with you."

 

Hal smiles, let's a single pointed tooth worry his bottom lip before he reaches out, straightens David's collar, adjusts his neckerchief until he's just a presentable as he'd been moments before. 

 

"There. Once again a fine, upstanding member of society," he jibes.

 

He pulls back enough to kneel and lets his hand fall into the cool grass. "Are you alright to stand? Should we wait a while?" He's concerned of course. Despite David's resilient nature, Hal is still cautious, to say nothing of their current surroundings.

 

"Maybe, when we've returned... we could...again?" He feels shy about the request. Twice in one day is not usual for the two of them, but what he's had now has only left him wanting more. 

 

He doesn't notice the figure retreating in the shadows.

 

"I'll be glad to. This was too short of a session for my tastes", he says, and winks. "So much for 'upstanding member of society'..."

 

Still dizzy, he stretches, and takes out the cardamom sweet bun. "I could stand to eat this one now, though. Wish we could stop by a bakery on the way back."

 

Distracted as he is, he doesn't really hear the rustling in the bushes until half a second too late. He stands as fast as he can, putting himself between Hal and the stranger.

 

Hal recoils immediately, withdraws behind David's solid form, although it's clear he isn't at his best. It was his foolishness, his folly that brought them both here and he's led them both into this. He should never have agreed to come out, never let his curiosity get the better of him, never let David reach out to him, pull him to the grass and...

 

"Abomination..."

 

And now they've found him. Here. In the open. Without even a door to hide behind. Part of him thinks this is probably for the best, perhaps he's been living on borrowed time since the first day of his miserable existence...

 

"...shouldn't be allowed to live..."

  
  


...but if that's true, then why did he have to meet David? Did he have to finally come to care about someone... who returned that very rare and precious thing to him for reasons he still couldn't fathom... just to lose him like this? To the hands of hunters out for his blood?

 

"Not right, out in the open like this, amongst decent, hardworking folk..."

 

He creeps around a single step, takes a look at their attacker. Not a hunter but...

 

There's a flash of silver in the stranger’s hands. 

 

_ Not a hunter,  _ David thinks, _ but still dangerous. _

 

He needs to shake off his blood loss dizziness right now. The newcomer is armed and hateful enough to draw a blade to them.

 

A flash of what Hal might be thinking passes through him, and the despair of it makes him growl at the man coming at them.

 

"You'll want to go away now, " he spits at the feet of their assailant. He takes out his own blade from his holster, and does his best to hide the way his hand falters.

 

He won't fail. Hal is his everything, and he will protect him.

 

"Oh I'll go away, sure enough, back to my home where I've got my woman waiting for me. But I couldn't look her in those beautiful brown eyes of hers if I didn't think I'd done my duty as a _ real  _ man. But maybe... maybe you don't know anything about that."

 

He flips his own knife once between gloved fingers and smiles sickly.

 

"You're not looking so good there, friend."

 

"David, please no. Let's just... let's go. Quickly." Hal pleads. And it's fear of course that's guiding him, but something else- a building bile in his stomach that threatens to take over.

 

"You go first, Hal", he mutters. "I need to make sure this one doesn't follow us"

 

There's the sound of rushing blood in his ears, but David right now is concentrating in the anger he feels bubbling under his windpipe. How dare this man come at them like this. How dare he pull a blade on Hal

 

"No... no I'm not just going to leave you here!"

 

He knows what David will tell him- that this is what he was hired to do, this is the whole reason he's even here, that Hal is being stupid and liable to get them both killed.

 

But none of that has been true for quite some time. If it were, they wouldn't have come out tonight in the first place.

 

Try not to think about that too much. It doesn't necessarily mean that caring about your well-being is dangerous for him...

 

Except the proof of that is right in front of them, drawing closer. 

 

"You'll look worse if you don't step back,” David growls Your wife is going to end up missing you if you don’t leave now."

 

It's hard to stand, but he does -  Between Hal and the danger.

 

"My wife would be proud of me, knowing I'm defending our city from the likes of deviants, out in the park. There's families, children! And you two carryin' on like you don't know where you are. This is England, not Sodom and Gomorrah!"

 

He lurches forward with more certainty and grace than David seems capable of now.

 

Hal screams.

 

David knows he can't kill this man - the reason he drew a blade instead of a gun. He's a random passerby armed with a sharp knife and poisonous bigotry, not a professional sent to get them.

 

Still he lunges, and David curses himself for being unable to get back on his feet as fast as they need, barely managing to parry and avoid getting stabbed, and damn, the man is fast, everything is happening too quickly, and he shrugs off the deflection as if it was water and comes at David again in a single movement.

 

David hears Hal's scream and hopes he runs

 

Hal sees him falter, knows he won't escape this encounter unscathed, and their attacker sounds like he's out for blood.

 

For an instant he sees David laid out on the ground, eyes open in shock, trail of blood at his lips, stain blossoming on his shirt and vest...

 

The sick feeling inside of him rises. He can't allow this to happen. 

 

Even if he should end up... 

 

It's a reasonable sacrifice to make, really.

 

He steps forward.

 

And everything goes black.

 


	10. Chapter 10

  
  


There's pain seeping inside the cocoon of darkness and warmth surrounding him.

 

Why? He doesn't want it. He feels comfortable, and safe, yet the piercing sensation insists on bothering him, settling around his ribs.

 

David opens his eyes and, even if the whole world insists on being out of focus... Hal's face, eyes puffy with tears, is above him, and that's enough.

 

He's incredibly confused. But he can't stand to see Hal so sad. He pulls him close to kiss him, ignoring the sting in his chest.

 

Though he allows the embrace, Hal's chest and shoulders are still shuddering with sobs, and he eventually pulls away to take a few short breaths.

 

"David...I... I'm so sorry. I should never have.... if I hadn't... you might have been..." He can't bear to continue his thoughts, just throws himself gently across David's chest, desperate for even a moment of contact. 

 

"Everything's gone all wrong and I couldn't bear if..."

 

Some things are too terrible to say out loud.

 

Hoarse, David asks, "...What happened?" He pulls him closer, holding him tight and breathing in his smell. The last thing he remembers is the stranger shrugging off his counterattack, him being so dizzy, and...

 

And the stabbing.

 

But more importantly,  _ he had failed to protect Hal. _

 

"That man, he..." the words falter and die on Hal’s tongue. How can he begin to explain?

 

"He stopped, but not before he..." Hal trembles again, his fingers grazing over the bandaged wound. "I tried to tend to it as best I could but you still lost a lot of blood. Please just... rest. Alright? We're home now. Safe."

 

He manages to draw himself back up, looks away as his hand falls to his side.

 

"It's probably best if I don't feed for a while."

 

"You aren't going back to that," David says. Closing his eyes, he’s unsteady, and yet... determined.

 

"We were reckless, outside. But that doesn't merit punishment for you . I deserve it, for lowering my guard like that."

 

He’s to blame and he knows it - the realization is fast and poisonous. But...

 

He brushes aside Hal's hair, wanting a good look at his face.

 

"Did you bring me home?"

 

Hal doesn't know how to answer that question, not just yet. So he pretends he hasn't heard it.

 

"I'll be fine. A week. Or two even. It won't do me any harm. I've gone much longer, and you have to give yourself time to heal." He knows David will argue so he tries a different tactic.

 

"If anything happens to you, then I'll have to go without anyway, won't I? So... don't be so reckless with yourself. For my sake."

 

Serious, and sad now - because he knows there's something Hal is declining to answer - David takes Hal's wrist and places a kiss on the pulse point, feeling it faint and slow against his lips.  There’s guilt raging down his chest, quietly gnawing on the borders of his vision. He chooses to breathe deeply and not pursue it - there are more important things to focus on.   
  
Hal’s own regretful shivers, he cannot leave them unattended.

 

"I've always healed faster than medicine says should be possible, when you've drank from me, haven’t I?"

 

He pulls Hal’s wrist to his chest. "I'm not leaving you all alone, Hal. You know I can't."

 

He doesn’t ask what became of his assailant. 

 

"I... I know you don't want to," and it surprises Hal to realize he does. "But... things happen. Unpredictable things. Neither of us imagined we'd be attacked like that and... you almost died ."

 

Tears are falling again. He can't stop them.

 

"If I hadn't..."

 

He stops. Shakes his head.

 

"Just a week. Please."

 

"I wouldn't force you to drink", David says, after a long silence,broken only by Hal's anguished sobs.

 

"I Just... Didn't imagine it would end like this."

 

Hal had brought him home... and David knew he wasn't a lightweight. How had he managed?

 

_ And what happened to that man? _

 

"I'm sorry, Hal. It was my fault"

 

"N-no," Hal shook his head. "You didn't know what would happen, neither of us did. You were only trying to..."

 

He leans back, takes the wire frames from his face to rub at his eyes. 

 

"You were trying to let me feel a bit more human." 

 

Reluctantly, he draws to his feet, tries to impress the importance of his words upon David, help him understand.

 

"I have to get back to work."

 

David knows what Hal means with that, the implications making his heart sink. He takes a moment to get his bearings and sits down with a hand extended to Hal, pleading him to not go.

 

"Hal", he starts, hesitating, because he isn’t sure how to fix this - Whatever happened, it’s undone all the progress they had made. David should have-- "Hal, you  _ are _ a person. Please... Stay."

 

"But I'm not." Hal’s voice trembles as his fists clench at his side. "I realize that now. I... I was having a fine time pretending, but as long as I'm like  _ this _ I'm a danger to others. To  _ you _ ."

 

"You're already hurt because of me. And if I ever..."

 

"I just can't be what you want me to be! Not while I'm still... this."

 

"Hal... I don't care. I wouldn't care even if you had killed that man back in the park"

 

Like he should have. He hadn’t been a hunter, it probably would’ve complicated everything, and yet-- Hadn’t David failed at his job?

 

But that’s not what needs his attention right now.  His hand is still extended. He throws the blanket off him, makes an attempt to stand up.

 

"Human beings hurt each other all the time. We still keep on living. And I don't give a damn about danger."

 

"It's you I want"

 

"I- I didn't," he stammers, covering his face with one hand. He can't bear to have David look at him right now.

 

"But I saw you on the ground, and I could smell the blood and I felt this.... this _ thing _ building inside of me and before I knew it he was..."

 

He manages to steal a glance back at David's face, desperately seeking comfort. 

 

"I tried not to kill him, I swear. I don't think I did but... I didn't  _ care.  _ Not really. Isn't that terrible? All I could think about was getting you away."

 

Shakily, David stand up and goes to Hal. He wraps his arms around him, pulls him close paying no heed to the wound cut into his chest.

 

"Hal... Even if you don't believe me, I understand." Dave rests his chin on the crown of his head, inhales. "I feel honored, that you'd go against everything you believe in to protect me."

 

"Please, don't do this to yourself."

 

How can David speak to him so? How can he bear to touch him, let alone hold him so gently like some precious and fragile thing?

 

"Being with you, I'd almost forgotten. It was easy to pretend that things aren't... the way they are."

 

Hal’s voice, though weak, carries a certain gravity. 

 

"What if we've been making it worse, somehow. Feeding the... the darkness within me. Making it stronger."

 

"I don't have a doubt that by feeding, your powers have grown stronger.” David takes care to speak frankly, and clearly. Despite how carefully chosen Hal's words are, it's not hard to sense the sheer severity of the crisis simmering beneath. "There's no other way you could have carried me from the park. Is there?"

 

He isn't letting go. And he refuses to touch Hal in the way he thinks he deserves, like some cursed  _ thing. _

 

"But to speak of darkness, when you're about to suffer a mental breakdown at the very thought of having hurt someone... I won't allow it. I won't allow you to call the protectiveness you felt for me mere bloodlust "

 

Serious, he asks for Hal to look at him.

 

"I have felt bloodlust and cruelty well enough myself to know this isn't it."

 

"Please." Hal is  _ pleading _ , terrified. "Just a little time. To... to prove that I can. That I don't have to..." 

 

It's an empty hope, they both know. Hal has only ever managed to stave of his hunger in the most meager sense, and it did him no favors. But if it did cause him harm, at least it kept him from doing so to others.

 

"Just a week. I'll focus on my w-work, see what all this means and... and then..."

 

He shakes, buries his head against David's chest. "And then... you'll convince me I'm being foolish, won't you? You'll tell me I'm not doing any good driving myself into the ground and you... you will..."

 

"Will keep loving you,” David interrupts.

 

His own heartbeat is pointed with shivers, so quick is his pulse right now. The silence that follows is brief but it feels  _ heavy  _ with gravity.

 

"That... That's the only word that fits."

 

He won't let go of his embrace. And it's good they are like this, allowing him the luxury of closed eyes while his long-repressed emotions override him.

 

"If you'd just let me convince you now, I'd be so much calmer."

 

He kisses the crown of Hal's head.

 

"I would do anything else for you, besides standing aside, doing nothing while you hurt yourself."

 

If David is shaking, then Hal has gone stone still, shocked at the blunt confession of feelings. He doesn't argue, doesn't question the sincerity of the words. After all, hasn't he been harboring the same sentiment for some time? Hasn't he fallen asleep each night looping the same phrase in his head over and over.

 

_ I love you.  _

 

_ I'm sorry but I do.  _

 

_ And one day I'll be someone who is worthy to love you... love you… _

 

_ Love you... _

 

He swallows. 

 

"A-anything?"

 

"Does that mean... if the time came... and... I had to be stopped..."

 

For a moment or two, David feels as if he’s been punched right beneath his ribs - winded and in pain.

 

What answer can he even give to Hal?

 

At last he whispers, "I would never hurt you. You are no monster to be stopped."

 

Silently, he asks him to look at him, two fingers lifting Hal's chin.

 

"This isn't like war at all, Hal. There are more paths than killing you myself, should something go wrong."

 

David is right. Of course David is right. He's the only one of the two of them who has ever faced true danger, looked death in the eye. He's the one who knows what it's like to have to fight for survival. And he's the one who has taken a life not once, but countless times in battle.

 

How fitting, then, that he should so fully understand mercy. 

 

But how strange that he deems fit to bestow it on him.

 

"I don't know how... my whole life, if you can even call it a life... it's left me ill prepared to handle... everything, really.” Hal steadies himself, takes another breath as he leans into David’s warmth. “I'm... I'm not like you. Neither strong nor sure of myself. I don't know how to be."

 

"I'm neither", David states, and he means it. "I'm no hero - never was. And there are things I did that would make you question if the monster here is me."

 

He thinks of Africa, and he thinks of the Yukon.

 

It's hard to stay standing, with the blood loss and the pain of his wound. He grits his teeth, perseveres, and tries his softer tone:

 

"You aren't alone now, Hal"

 

He thinks for a bit, and adds, "Nobody as gentle as you could ever be a monster."

 

Hal closes his eyes and tries to believe what David is telling him. 

 

_ He wouldn't lie to you. _

 

_ You have to trust him. _

 

_ He wouldn't still be here, begging you this way if he didn't believe every word. _

 

But just as he is about to agree, instinct takes over. He can feel how exhausted David is, sense the strain and aches in his body as though they were his own.

 

_ He's withstanding all of this... just to comfort you... surely that's proof enough?  _

 

He nods, just once.

 

"David, please, lie down. Just for one night, rest and... let me watch over you?"

 

"That isn't the way it's supposed to be, you know,” but David is attempting to joke. Mostly. He’s just glad Hal is… slowly starting to understand.

 

Maybe he can't believe what David is saying, but at least he's willing to trust that he means it.

 

"Come share the bed with me. You should rest, too."

 

They have been falling asleep together for so long it feels strange now, to have that side of the bed empty.

 

He lets go slowly, walks back until the edge of the mattress touches the back of his knees. Sitting, he calls for Hal, patting the duvet.

 

"I'd rather feed you. But we can talk about that tomorrow."

 

David isn't good at optimism. Right now, this is him trying his best.  Whatever happened this afternoon, it’s going to come back and haunt him as soon as he digests it, and he knows it. 

 

"I'm afraid I haven't much of an appetite right now anyway.” Hal smiles weakly.  “Besides, I had a quick bite earlier."

 

He settles beside him and leans over slowly, presses a single kiss to the faint scar he's left on David's throat. It's as much display of self control as it is affection. 

 

He sheds what's left of his outer garments slowly slipping beneath the covers of David's bed, marveling at the chain of events that has provided him the opportunity to do so. 

 

"Everything will be alright," he whispers to himself. 

 

"As long as we're together. "

 

David stays quiet as Hal undresses and slides beneath the covers, to better feign that the kiss didn't steal his breath away.

 

He pulls him close. Careful with his wound and yet… content in the only kind of peace he has ever wanted. Blood loss has left him tired in a different way the feedings do - he doesn’t have the energy for regrets.

 

They’ll be waiting for him tomorrow, anyway.

 

"We will be."

 

He steals a brief, tight kiss from Hal. 

 

“We’ll solve this just as we are now.”

 

“Together.”


	11. Chapter 11

It was probably wrong, to wish for something a little more challenging than the easy target he was approaching. There wasn't much to this job, hell, he hesitated to call it a job at all- it wasn't as though he'd been hired for the hit. No, this was... personal, he supposed. In more ways than one.

 

He'd been surprised to find David so close to his own base of operations, wondered at first if the boy had been tracking him down after all these years, finally ready to make amends.

 

The truth was a lot more ugly.

 

He'd given him a chance to come willingly, of course. After all, he was a reasonable man. And David... well he was headstrong, but he was a good boy. Made good decisions. Followed orders.

 

Usually.

 

It wasn't his fault he'd fallen victim to the vampire's powers. Not really. Stronger men than he had become thralls. But John wasn't about to let it stand.

 

He'd find some way to explain. Later. Should it come up. But right now, he had a job to do.

 

 

* * *

 

 

David had traps set around the mansion. The kind that made sounds of alert, the kind that caught, the kind that repelled...

 

Not a single one was set off.

 

So perhaps it was destiny, that he had been outside changing the horseshoes on Grantaire. Spotting John slowly advancing towards his home, and brandishing the hammer against him was a single movement in itself.

 

John looks down at the hammer in David's hand, then up at the wary look in his eyes and stops several feet away, turning his palms out to show that he isn't armed... yet .

 

"I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt, son, and assume you haven't received my letter. Give you the chance to explain yourself. Why you're here of all places, and for so long a time."

 

He crosses his arms, displeasure clear on his face. "You're no fool boy, you know what _he_ is. I taught you that much."

 

"I am here of my own free will", David says, narrowing his eyes - John wasn’t supposed to know about Hal. He takes the pang of sudden fear he feels and sharpens it into anger, the growl in his words clear and cutting. "Unlike when I was with you "

 

Spitting on the ground with disgust, he adds, "The hell are you making those offers for? What made you think I'd want to go back?"

 

"You had a place with us, a purpose, a family, come to that." The hostility in David's voice doesn't go unnoticed, and John realizes this may not end up going as smoothly as he'd imagined. "I didn't come here to fight you, I just came to remind you of that."

 

His eyes dart towards the house in the distance, sunlight only just beginning to touch its eaves and overhangs.

 

"Starting to think though... maybe you haven't just forgotten. Suppose there's a reason you can't remember."

 

David glares back at him, the path of his gaze well noted. "I can remember the good old times just fine. Enough that I spent ten years doing my best to scrub them away"

 

He walks closer, balancing the hammer, ready to strike. Doesn't take his eyes off John, but his ears are attuned to the sounds surrounding them - the rustle of the wind through the manor's grounds shaking the unkempt underbrush and the branches of the trees, the birdsongs announcing the daybreak.

 

John couldn't have come alone, could he?

 

"Family means nothing to you. Never did. We were convenient, though, Eli and I. Loyal dogs of war, that was us."

 

"David," John says, using his name for the first time. "If I didn't care about you, I wouldn't be here now, having this conversation. Wouldn't have sent you that letter a month ago. Wouldn't be giving you the benefit of the doubt now."

 

He reaches into the folds of his own coat, pulls out a pistol of his own. It's hardly standard issue, it's been modified by his team back home to be effective against almost any manner of prey, but it's still plenty effective against humans.

 

"Convenient? You two boys were anything but. It was more than I had to do- giving you a place with us. Could have left you behind as infants. But you grew up, became good soldiers who knew your place. Or so I thought."

 

"That's why I'm giving you a chance now, to stop this. You aren't in your right mind. Can't even remember what is right. That's what they do to you. Creep inside your brain and twist it up so far that you think up is down, black is white, and evil is good."

 

He nods towards the house just once.

 

"He's a monster. Let me free you from him."

 

Without letting go of the hammer, David draws a semiautomatic from his back holster and points it straight between John's eyes.

 

"You get away from that house. Now. I don't have much patience for idle chatter nowadays."

 

He cocks the hammer, takes the safety off.

 

"Could've done without your charity. Fucking cult leader, that's you. Did you forget why I left, _father_? Last time, it was me who you had in your sights."

 

John sighs, weary of the conversation.

 

"I'd rather see you dead than under the control of some _creature._ Maybe you can't understand that, you haven't been up close and personal with these monsters like I have, seen what they can do to a man."

 

He shakes his head, shifts his weight. "Didn't come to fight you..."

 

"You stabbed me five times and left me for dead in the middle of the Transvaal!", retorts David, long-repressed fury bubbling to the surface.

 

A lesser man would be shaking. But with a steady hand, he doesn't lower the gun, keeps it trained on a fatal trajectory.

 

"This is my home. And I'm already giving you more than I should, not shooting you on sight."

  
Why isn’t he pulling the trigger?

 

"Your _home?_ " It's worse than John realized, then. David is too far gone to be reasoned with. There's no saving him until the _thing_ is dead.

 

"Well then I'm sorry to have trespassed..." He lowers his weapon, returns it to his holster, regret evident in his voice. He turns to leave before he makes a soft sucking sound, running his tongue against the ridges of his  teeth.

 

"Really sorry, about all of this."

 

And all at once he's shot out, captured David's forearm in the crook of his elbow and spun him around.

 

"Don't want to hurt you but... can't let you do this."

 

David should have shot him.

 

John moves and he's as fast as always, and for a second David is once again a kid getting thrown to the floor like a straw dummy, gun lost in the tall grass of the neglected manor grounds. But his reflexes respond just as quickly. Using the strength of his assailant to balance himself, he grabs onto John's clothes and pulls him down with him, rolling until he lands a punch square on his nose, adrenaline and satisfaction whipping through him when he feels the bone breaking

 

He’s lost his chance to blow John’s brains out, but he isn't going to lose. _He can't._

 

John almost laughs. It's been so long since the two of them have been at it like this, scrabbling on the ground in a training exercise or even back in... well... things hadn't gone easily back in Africa, David is right about that.

 

But he can spare no time for sentimentality right now. This is a fight for David's very soul.

 

He can taste the blood in his mouth, spits it up at David's eyes, taking the split second in which he flinches to shove him away, grappling with him until he's locked the young man's legs in his own, has his throat caught up against his chest, held tightly in one arm.

 

"I can see it, you know. The scar where he's marked you. It's disgusting."

 

David never expected him to fight cleanly, but he still recoils at the sting of blood in his eyes.

 

Still, his other senses are engaged, animal instinct overriding everything else as he scrambles for the blade in his boot even before they finish grappling. John is crushing his throat but he kicks to gain leverage before sinking the blade 'til the very hilt in his side.

 

He takes a deep breath as soon as he can and stabs again.

 

There’s no need to talk. Too many mistakes had already been made.

 

_Hal is in the lab._

 

John grunts in surprise at the sharp pain of David's attack. It’s not that the boy had the foresight to use a well hidden weapon, but that he hadn't been more prepared to defend against it. His leather armor manages to slow down the blade just a little, makes what would have been a fatal stabbing merely debilitating... though he doesn't have time to lick his wounds just yet. Not when David is making a second attack, clearly readying for a third.

 

The boy might not be in his right mind... but he's still dangerous. Maybe more so...

 

_Never seen him like this before. Never been so..._

 

He tries to tighten his grip around David's neck but it's difficult, blood weeping from him as it is.

 

David’s lungs are failing him, he needs to get away, he needs--

 

His free hand goes grabbing for his father’s face, landing a punch in the already broken nose and another in his eyes. He uses the flash of pain he knows he caused to break free, roll away and crouch, panting ragged and ready to strike with the blade.

 

He knows exactly how strong his opponent is- was on the receiving end of that strength too many times, for too many years. But he doesn't idolize him, not anymore. And he wasn’t going to hesitate again.

 

"You aren't getting out of here alive", he vows.

 

John wipes the blood from his mouth although it's quickly replaced. David was trained by the best and knows a thing or two about landing an accurate blow. And if he's out to kill...

 

...Well it's not unheard of for a Renfield to gain supernatural strength and power in return for their service.

 

That must be what's happened here. He should have accounted for that; it was a stupid mistake on his part, and one he'll be prepared for in the future.

 

"Can't believe you'd kill..." he coughs, spits up more blood, "to protect a thing that isn't rightly alive.”

 

David hasn't seen this man in ten years, and if he were in any position to think, he'd be surprised at how quickly his own fury is flaring, poisoning his guts with thick, black hate.

 

"All that blood on your hands, and you dare to speak with a straight face..."

 

Wheezing still, he approaches him once again, circling him and drawing closer each time, blade out. There's no pity in David's eyes - no intention of giving his opponent respite.

 

"Killing sprees through refugee camps-- Scorching the fields so people would starve... "

 

He can still taste the carnage, smell the fertile land turned smoke and barren swamps, And that had been _before_ their company had started hunting. John, the Big Boss. He'd made a mighty fine business ending human lives.

 

How _dare_ he define life.

 

David stops talking and lunges.

 

There's no more time for John to think, only react. The man coming at him, teeth and blade bared is not David, not his son, not the boy he raised and taught to fight. He is merely the enemy, and has to be handled as such.

 

It isn't the first time John's been stabbed, his body a latticework of scars that tells a gruesome story of a life hard wrested from those who would have had him dead long ago. This is not a fight he'll lose. Even if it's one he can't win.

 

It's a clever little device the doctor has thought up for him, delicate almost, just a blade and a spring- though that simplicity belies its potential.

 

He lands a solid punch as David comes towards him, right in the gut, enough to wind him- and grits his teeth as he twists his wrist just so... feels the blade slide out over his hand and into the taut muscles just beyond.

 

There’s a beastly growl that abandons him, deep from David’s core--

 

The momentum he had built doesn't break as the punch connects, the hidden blade piercing through his entrails. He snarls and twists, and his own blade finds a home right inside the right armpit of his father. There's blinding pain, threatening to bend him in two, but adrenaline and survival are pumping through him, even as he coughs up blood.

 

He stands. Hal is inside the house and he can't fail, and if he has to be a rabid dog once more he'll do it all over again because there's no way he'll let John inside his house.

 

Nevermind how his vision is rapidly darkening.

 

_Should've worn the leather vest._

 

Another twist of the blade... that would finish things- tear him up inside, likely beyond repair but...

 

"Don't like doing this..." John says grimly, before loosing a high pitched whistle.

 

John is a beast of a man and it's never more evident than when he's in the middle of a fight. He roars at David's well placed attack, but manages to push him away with a single strong kick  to his chest, sending a sickly stream of dark blood onto the ground. There's no telling whose it is.

 

He shifts a leg out beneath him, steadies himself as he fights the impulse to pull the weapon lodged in his body, but that's a rookie mistake. It's anyone's guess who will compose themselves enough to make another attack, and whether either of them would be able to survive it, but the point is moot as a hulking form crosses between them.

 

It's telling, how entrenched he was in the fight that he almost didn't hear the stallion approach.

 

"Whoa, Whoa," He calls out, before using his last reserves of strength to put a foot in the stirrup.

 

From the ground, there's only fury and adrenaline keeping David awake and fighting. The kick had sent him flying, had taken away his breath and filled his mouth with blood and bile.

 

He won't fail again, he can’t fail again...

 

Picking up the hammer he had dropped, he crouches, stands and hurls the heavy iron tool - sends it spinning through the air towards John's head as he turns his back to him, momentarily vulnerable while he attempts to climb the horse.

 

It is likely only due to the blood loss David has endured and the fact that John and the horse are moving targets that the hammer only grazes him. It still shocks him, is enough to spur him onward as he pulls himself onto the back of his steed.

 

"Hya!" He calls out and the stallion takes off at a gallop.

 

This isn't over, not by a long shot, but he isn't ready to give up on David just yet, even less his own life.

 

David just _howls_ in rage and frustration as his father runs away, still alive.

 

A stab wound and defeat all over again, just the same as the time in the park--

 

But he didn't come close to Hal. Not yet, at least.

 

He's shaking from the pain and exertion. But he knows-- his work isn't over. Getting himself patched up and back in fighting condition is the priority now. Big Boss is going to be back. He senses it in his bones, in the nausea, and the taste of blood inside his mouth threatening to make him throw up. Hurt all the worse the open gash in his belly with the very sickness of having come across him again.

 

David limps towards the house, and fastens all the locks on the door as soon as he's inside

 

* * *

 

 

"David?" Hal calls up from the lab, door left ajar. While he had been insistent on adopting a more rigorous work pace after their close call in the park, David had not allowed him to "lock himself in the dungeon" anymore. Frequent breaks, regular rest, an open door. It was work, not a penance, he'd been told, more than once.

 

He finds David by the door, sitting up ramrod straight on an armchair, and surrounded by an arsenal.

 

There's an undeniable paleness to his complexion, and his hands are shaking as they hold a shotgun. Iron, sweat and whiskey intermingle all around him, covering him like a shroud.

 

He hadn't wanted Hal to find him like this.

 

"D-David?" Hal runs over immediately, thoughts of his work from earlier that day immediately banished when he sees the state he's in.

He knows the look of terror on his face, can recognize the sickly pallor of his skin instantly. And the look in David's eyes...

 

David is the bravest man he's ever known. Not even a literal attack on their lives in public had unsettled him so. What now then, has him so on edge?

 

He reaches out for his hand slowly, and only then does he take in the unfamiliar scent of alcohol, stronger than the usual drinks  David enjoys from time to time, possibly in potency or quantity, but either could be dangerous.

 

"I'm fine", he says, and maybe it comes out more aggressive than he wanted. But David lets go of the shotgun to grasp at Hal's hand, forgetting for a second how clammy his own skin is going to feel to the touch. He's just so relieved to see him.

 

Hal is alright. Hal will be kept safe.

 

They can't run anywhere else, not in plain daylight. And even if they could, where would they go? He had been foolish, not setting a safehouse or several as soon as John’s letter had come to him. The only option is to stand a possible siege. His father is going to come back.

 

So he will endure.

 

Hal’s brow furrows as he kneels on the ground next to him. He's never seen him in such a state and even if his eyes hadn't trailed down to the bandages covering his chest and torso he can smell the blood, not all of it old, in the air.

 

"David, what happened?" He repeats, voice more serious than frightened. Whatever attacked David is clearly a threat to them both. "This is not "fine" by any definition, and there's no use trying to hide your wounds, not from me."

 

"Hunter found the house", he says. And he doesn't want to say more, not really. Doesn't want to explain why he was so easily bested, again . "Professional. Long time in the business"

 

He can't spare Hal the worry, but he doesn't need to get deeper into it. His breathing is still shallow and he knows it. But the ache is dulled by a third of the bottle of whiskey by his feet. He will be able to perform, he needs--

 

"I have to stay here in case he comes back."

 

"A...hunter?" Hal repeats, not out of shock that it's finally happened, but out of surprise at himself. After months of a nearly idyllic peace with David, he'd all but forgotten the reason he'd invited him here in the first place.

 

"You said he was an expert... I wonder if..." He bites I'm his lip, trying to remember the exact wording of the letter that he'd received so many months ago.  "...if it was the same hunter _he_ encountered..."

 

... The idea of Hal's father and his father somehow knowing each other fills David with dread. What were the odds? It couldn’t be a coincidence - Unless a greater number of hunters were tracking Hal here than anticipated. Most of the minor assailants David had easily repelled before weren't specifically after Hal - They had somehow discovered the existence of a vampire inside to hunt and broken in.

 

But the “highly trained professional”, “best in his field” from Hal’s letter...

 

"Could be", he says in the end.

 

"That's... oh...no..."

 

Hal’s hand, still firmly around David's starts to shake as he considers the possibility. He never found out what happened to his father after he sent that letter, the last correspondence he'd received from him, and to be honest, even those words had come years after he'd been presumed dead.       

 

"I've... been quiet, you know? Made arrangements for animal blood from butchers beforehand. Never went out... feeding. I thought perhaps... I might continue going on unnoticed."

 

He looks back at David, curses himself for letting things get to this point. He knows that David is trained for this sort of thing, it's his job after all but... it just doesn't feel right. Letting this happen to someone he loves for his sake.

 

"David..." he says again, pleading but patient. "You... you can't do this."

 

"I can. _I will._ "

 

Letting go of the shotgun, he squeezes Hal's hands in his.

 

"I want to."

 

Trying to regain a more normal rhythm to his breathing requires concentration. He needs to get himself under control, and stop giving Hal reasons to be worried.

 

"It's not your fault he found us, Hal. I swear it."

 

"I don't see how you can be sure of that. There's no other reason to target this place."

 

Hal takes in a deep breath, holds it.

 

"But that isn’t what I mean," he adds. "You... know better than this. Look at yourself, you're killing yourself by degrees by trying to keep this constant vigil. It's..." he searches for the word, "...familiar, isn't it?"

 

He reaches out, pushes the nose of the gun down and out of the way so he can draw a little nearer.

 

"You wouldn't let me destroy myself. I'm not about to let you do the same."

 

"It's not like that. This is a matter of survival," David retorts. "The threat is immediate."

 

He licks his lips, finds them sticky. _Breathe._ "I don't think he's the kind to leave something like this unfinished. I got him good, though. So he might not come back alone."

 

And he hates to ask this, draw from the knowledge Big Boss instilled in him to make him a hunter, but he needs--

 

"Can you heal me? Somehow?"

 

Hal thinks hard for a moment. Of course he's healed David countless times after a feeding, there is be no way he would have survived this long without his attentions, after all. But they've never attempted to use that ability in this sort of capacity. Never had the need, thankfully. He's not entirely sure what the limitations are but-

 

"I can try, at the very least," he replies, earnest and concerned.

 

He trembles a little bit. Worried that he might not succeed, terrified that he will and David will take that success as a license to put himself in greater danger. But he will do anything for the man, anything at all if it means he can ease his pain, if only for a moment.

 

"But not here. Bar the door, put the weapons away. Come to bed, just for a while."

 

"Don't like to leave the door undefended..." David starts, but he stands up. Slowly.

 

He can concentrate on not swaying better this way.

 

It's worth a shot. If Hal can heal him-- he will be able to be better prepared for the inevitable battle. And if not...

 

Well, his original plan still stands.

 

Hal's face right now breaks his heart. A shiver of regret quivers through him. David shakes his head and nods. "I'll follow you. For a moment." And he bars the door on top of all the locks he already had put on.

 

Hal recognizes the unsteadiness for what it is: significant blood loss coupled with exhaustion, to say nothing of the copious amount of alcohol David had imbibed.

 

It's foolish really, for him to have drank like that after sustaining  such wounds, but Hal is not about to admonish him for seeking relief in the only way he knew how.

 

It is strange, to be the one supporting David's weight as they make their way to the bedroom. How could he have even considered fighting when he can barely walk, Hal wonders. Finally he is able to ease him down onto the mattress, and he tries desperately to get him to relax as he carefully undoes the buttons of his shirt.

 

"Breathe slowly, calm yourself. That will make this all easier."

 

He isn't sure if that is strictly true,  but right now he needs David to relax, to regain some peace of mind.

 

If their suspicions are correct, the two of them have a great deal of work ahead.

 

"I'm calm already," David mutters, knowing well it's not true, that Hal realized this as soon as he saw him.

 

But the same as he let Hal lead him to bed, David lets him handle this. He didn’t want to show him his wounds, but he trusts him even in this, to find a solution and patch him up so he can defend their home.

 

More than this manor, his home is Hal, and David won't allow John to threaten the happiness he has found by his side.

 

"Next time..." he mutters, voice thick with the shame he feels at his failure, "Next time I won't miss."

 

Hal finishes opening his shirt and he looks away, not wanting to see the sadness and pity on that face.

 

It's not a pretty sight. Although David has had plenty of practice over the course of his life in dressing wounds, it's clear that the hands that wrapped these bandages were panicked, unsteady. Dried blood trails in telltale streaks across his chest and stomach, leading back to what Hal knows must be deep cuts.

 

"Stay here," he says firmly, disappearing for just long enough to retrieve a few things. A pan of water, a wash towel, a clean pair of scissors from his workspace.  When he re-enters the room, it's still a shock to him, seeing David laid out like this.

 

He takes a seat next to him and sets to work, for now doing things any normal doctor might. He trims away neatly at the bandages, careful not to remove the gauze above David's wounds.

 

"You mustn't blame yourself," he says quietly. "If this man is what you say he is, he is no ordinary foe."

 

"You fought him off today, which is no small thing. You..." He pauses, soaked washcloths just inches above David's chest. "You saved my life. Don't view this as a failure."

 

David takes deep breaths, in pain and yet used to it. Old habits, old resistances from the battlefield too deeply ingrained in him for anything else.

 

So it's not the sting and bruising on his chest, as Hal cleans and redresses the wounds, that makes him keep his gaze away from him, bite his lip in bitterness.

 

"Don't ask that of me", he says in the end. "Until I've truly defeated him."

 

He says nothing else, wanting only for Hal to hurry, so he can return to his post by the door.

 

For all his talk of bravado and solitude, John had an entire company in the hunting business. He would be back... And he wouldn't be alone.

 

Perhaps he wouldn't even deign to come back himself. Maybe he would send the Diamond Dogs after them.

 

Hal says nothing, unwilling to start an argument he knows neither of them can win. David can't spare the strength besides, is barely holding himself together as it is.

 

Gently, he dabs the cloth at David's skin until he's satisfied with the job he's done, clearing away most of the remnants of dried blood. Only then does he lean down, taking slow, deliberate breaths as he prepares himself.

 

"Clear your mind, just for a moment," he pleads, his lips near one of the most vicious gashes in David's side. "Relax. Breathe."

 

He's never done anything like this before. Never done anything more than coax the points on David's throat closed again once he'd finished drinking. Will it work, he wonders? But of course he has to try.

 

He doesn't feed of course. The flavor and scent are unpalatable, even- which is a surprise. But he works quietly, just as he had in the past, sucking lightly to get the blood in David's veins pumping strongly, darting his tongue out lightly to close the skin.

 

Blessedly, it appears to be working.

 

Not a single whine or complaint comes out of David's tightly closed lips in all this time. Even if he fights the physical relief that inevitably comes when Hal's mouth starts closing away at the wound, different from after a feeding and yet--

 

_Relax._

 

_Breathe._

 

He doesn't want to. He has a mission.

 

The pain is slowly subsiding, as his muscles and skin knit themselves together, healing set in motion by Hal's lips and tongue. Until now it's been easy to forget the supernatural quality of Hal's condition, even though he has experienced it himself every time Hal drinks from him, in a minor scale. He doesn't really use the abilities that are his birthright, strengthened by David's willingly given blood.

 

It's moving, that Hal has consented to use them now, for his sake. He had feared them, for so long... all the more the reason to love him.

 

But if you love someone, you have to be able to protect them.

 

"How long?" he asks. "Before I can go back..."

 

"Hush." Hal all but hisses at him as he raises his head, stern but still concerned. Just because it seems to be effective doesn't mean that David is out of the woods just yet. "You'll go back when you're ready, not before."

 

He sighs, dabs again at the freshly healed skin with the towel and water. It's still pink and slightly raw, but that's all the more reason to be careful now. The most serious damage is taken care of now, thankfully, but as long as he's at it...

 

"Try and hold still," he whispers as he takes David's hand in his, extending his arm gently and unwrapping the strips of bandages there. He brings each inch of skin up to his lips, slowly mending the sundry cuts and scrapes there, tracing them gently until the only remainder are the last drops of dried blood that he deftly wipes away.

 

"You should really rest." He reaches out to dab at David's face, wiping away the remnants of blood and sweat. "I'll keep a watch, wake you if there's any change. For now, you should sleep."

 

It is rare, for Hal to use such a harsh voice with him. Out of surprise and respect, David made eye contact at that hiss, and kept his mouth shut.

 

So indeed, he had stayed still as Hal kept cleaning him, kept healing even the most minute scratches and bruises. Slowly, so slowly it had made him desperate. But he respected Hal enough to follow such a simple command, and did not attempt to rush him.

 

Meanwhile, his body kept relaxing under Hal's ministrations. He had allowed it. David knows he can spring back to awareness quickly - a skill that had saved his life countless times in the past.

 

 _'You should really rest,'_ Hal had said, softly caressing his face with the warm, wet towel. And there they had been again, the sad gray eyes looking at him as if David was his most precious possession, and he was about to lose him. David could get lost in those eyes, anytime.

 

He wants to say no. He has a duty to fulfill.

 

But when Hal said, _'You should sleep'..._

 

It's terrifying, in an entirely unknown way, when his mind starts responding to those words. He struggles, increasingly sluggish, muttering a slurred "No..." , as the world gets darker and darker- a hand flying to grab weakly at Hal's clothes, his eyelids unbearably heavy, sinking closed.

 

"No..." he repeats, control bleeding out of him too quickly to recover, exhaustion a thick blanket dulling his senses. " _Please._ "

 

David sleeps.


	12. Chapter 12

 

Hal places his own hand where David's has landed on his chest, movements loose and uncoordinated. It's so unlike the man to falter in the control he holds over himself.

 

He knows a thing or two about seeking comfort in self discipline - punishment, David had always called it. Perhaps he'd been so quick to call him out because he empathized with him more than he'd initially let on. But... the way David had pleaded with his own body not to succumb to it's need for...

 

… No that wasn't quite right, was it?

 

His eyes had locked with Hal's for just an instant, sadness and sympathy giving way to... fear? 

 

But, why?

 

Hal understands David's concerns, has lived in fear of being found out and terminated his entire life. But seeing him bloody and beaten like this had brought a surprising clarity and calmness as Hal focused on the task at hand. And for David's determination to give way to fear of this hunter...

 

No...

 

Hal pulls away slowly as he stares down at David's sleeping form, body spread out just the same way as he had coaxed his limbs. It's not... natural the way he's lying- certainly not the way he has fallen asleep on his own at the end of a long day.

 

_ Not fear of the hunter... _

 

_...fear of you. _

 

Had he really done it?

 

How?

 

He must have been responsible- there was no other way to explain it.

 

_ But did I mean to?  _

 

_ Does it matter I he did?  _

 

_ What will David do when he wakes?  _

 

_ What if he doesn't wake?  _

 

_ No, of course he will. That isn't how it works. _

 

He hopes.

 

It takes him an hour just to stop pacing the bedroom, to stop his hands from shaking, to remember to breathe. How many minutes has it been since he'd taken a breath? Did he even need to anymore? How much of him could even still be called a man?

 

David's body, still and silent, offers no answers he cares for.

 

So he disappears as he often does. Retreats to his workspace. Turns dials and knobs and inspects droplets of blood beneath sheets of glass and writesdown numbers, likely all meaningless, all wrong, wrong, wrong.

 

Just like what he's done.

 

Just like himself.

  
  


* * *

 

 

David doesn't move in his sleep, doesn't whine in pain or anxiety. He sleeps as deeply as the dead would: No dreams, only soft breaths betraying the illusion.

 

His eyes open to a pitch-black room. Disoriented and well-rested, he remembers the nightmare he had had in the morning. His heart feels heavy at the memory, but he knows he'll get over it. He's used to those. He just hasn't had them in a long while. 

 

Where is Hal? He stirs under the covers. Maybe it should be worrying, how natural is to look for him by his side as soon as David wakes up.

 

It's only when he notices the dirty bandages on the nightstand that it all comes back, crashing down upon him like an icy wave, freezing in spikes across his windpipe.

 

_... Hal had forced him... _

 

He throws the duvet aside and stands. Fury is irrational - it clouds his vision, fills his ears with cotton. He knows this.

 

But right now, David doesn't have it in him to stop it.

 

Hal is in the lab. Of course he is.

 

David throws the door open, descends the steps underground slow and elastic. Predatorial, his anger simmering without boiling. Not yet.

 

He forces his way right in front of Hal, hands slamming on the desk to call for his attention.

 

"Do you know," he labors over each syllable, "how dangerous what you did was?"

 

Hal had heard David coming down the stairs. Heard him coming down the hall. Had even felt him wake and rise out of bed. It's... unsettling to say the least, to be so aware of the man and yet to feel so distant from him, everything he is. 

 

He can't meet David's eyes right now, can't bear to see the anger there despite the fact that he can practically taste it in the air.

 

If he's honest, he's also a little worried about what he might do, even on accident, if he does.

 

So he keeps his eyes trained on his work, keeps his movements repetitive and empty. Doesn't know what to say, doesn't have any words until David gives them to him.

 

"Do you have any idea..." he echoes, "how dangerous I am?"

 

"I do", David spits, bristling at how Hal won’t even  _ stop working _ . "I had it drilled into me since I was a kid."

 

He's trembling. This is counterproductive. If the Diamond Dogs come now, they will be trapped in this basement.

 

Yet his focus right now is on the man in front of him, and him only,.

 

Because Hal isn't meeting his eyes, isn't even saying he’s sorry. Continues paying attention to his papers and beakers, and for a moment the only thing he wants is to flip the table and make him look at him .

 

David swallows. There's something inside him trying his best to make him remember, this is the man he loves. They should talk it out. He shouldn't let the betrayal--

 

"I trusted you anyway," he growls.

 

Loss of control terrifies him. Out of his own free will he has relinquished to Hal in the past, out of  _ trust.  _ Today Hal had taken the power to decide away from his hands, left him unconscious in the face of danger, unable to wipe away his failure against John.

 

"You're letting me think it was a mistake "

 

The heat is rolling off of David in waves, it's suffocating. But if he wants to be angry at him, yell, scream, throw his equipment on the ground, even lash out at him it's no less than Hal deserves. 

 

He can't shake the image of David laid out unconscious by his words, even if he hadn't meant to do it. It had simply been impossible to imagine that he'd be any good in any kind of fight in his condition, and resting made the most sense, would give the both of them a fighting chance later... but...

 

...if Hal hadn't done it on purpose, hadn't flipped a switch to turn that particular power "on", did it mean he couldn't turn it "off"? Could he trust his own words from this point on? And was there any proof that this was actually the first time this had happened? How did he know David hadn't taken his "suggestions" in the past?

 

It would explain...

 

He trembles slightly as he comes to a conclusion.

 

"I'm not so sure it wasn't."

 

_ Why is Hal conceding the point?  _

 

_ Why won’t he look at me? _

 

_ Why is he just there shaking like some broken thing-- _

 

Of all the emotions threatening to drown him, rushing through his body like a turbulent stream, wrath is the easiest one to pick.

 

It’s one David understands, at least.

 

He grabs Hal by the lapels of his jacket, and  _ growls. _

 

And the same something from before keeps needling at him, reminding him he needs to be rational, he needs to get himself under control, he doesn't really want to hurt someone he loves so much, he--

 

"You. You need to explain yourself", he says, with a body that won't stop shaking. He lets go, slowly, panting.

 

_ You're out of your mind, David Sears. _

 

In the end, years of hurt and paranoia had caught up with him, no matter how much he ran.

 

_ You're just like your father. _

 

For a second, Hal wonders if David will actually hit him... and if it would hurt if he did.

 

Because he's so uncertain right now about everything. The likelihood of an imminent threat. The  state of David's health. His own changing physiology.

 

In fact he's only certain of two things right now:

 

That David was gravely hurt trying to do a job to which he believes himself to be honor bound.

 

And that more than anything, Hal doesn't want to see him in that state again. Not for his sake.

 

He swallows hard, tries to regain his composure, and allows himself one lingering, sorrowful look at David before he closes his eyes and begins to speak.

 

"Why are you here, David?" He asks, genuinely unsure. "Because you were hired for a job? I terminated your contract months ago but you stayed, knowing the risks, knowing what I am because... you wanted to. Felt bound to me, yes?"

 

He trembles on the spot but forces himself to continue.

 

"That sort of devotion is... admirable, exceptional..."

 

His voices grows quiet, "...perhaps even... unnatural..."

 

It would be a poor trade indeed, the life of a good man for that of a monster.

 

David feels a shiver run down his spine, winter spreading through him. Enough to smother the red-hot fury, leaving only sharp bitterness.

 

"Don't you dare", he says, very slowly, "suggest that"

 

_ Breathe. _

 

"I'm here because  _ I love you _ . Words I didn't know before I met you."

 

His hands seek something to curl into them, to hold and worry and break. They scratch at the surface of Hal's desk, but he doesn't reach for him again.

 

_ Breathe. _

 

"Don't you dare say that is a lie."

 

"How can you possibly know that?"

 

Hal’s voice wavers and if he tries to hide it it's only so that he won't influence David in that way either. He has to let him come to his own conclusions, if that's still even possible.

 

"I've... been so alone, for so long. Of... course I'd want the first decent person to cross my path to stay. To tell me they want to stay. To tell me he..."

 

He winces as he wraps his arms around himself, wishes he could be holding David, touching David, even  _ looking _ at David.

 

"I... I care about you..." 

 

The words are hushed and desperate.

 

"...too much to let you risk your life if there's even a chance that what you feel isn't real."

 

"I wanted you from the start", David counters, anger slowly growing from the obfuscated embers, its vines entangling through his limbs.

 

"The life I had, I hadn't known kindness. I hadn't ever known anyone so hellbent on not hurting anyone, they'd damn themselves to a life like the one you led. It was new. It was intriguing. It was nothing like I was taught about vampires."

 

He needs to believe in this. He needs to believe in his own free will, and to stay strong in his resolve, because right now the hurt brought by Hal’s words is threatening to drown him.

 

"I gave you my blood willingly. You remember that. Back when you were weakened by decades of feeding off your samples of livestock blood. You were so starved you could barely keep yourself on your feet."

 

This, this is what he will hold onto.

 

"You've already taken too many decisions from me tonight. You don't get to decide if what I feel is real, too."

 

He's outright shaking where he stands, as unsteady as that first time on the porch, and just as empty.

 

"I"m sorry," Hal manages at last. "I never wanted to take anything from you, least of all your freedom."

David doesn't like to talk about the past. Neither does Hal, for that matter. The two of them have done well enough focusing on the present and carving out a hard-won future. It should surprise him- he supposes, to learn that David's past training involved an education in vampires but he won't question that now, just like he won't questions his reasons for keeping it secret.

 

"You... you're right. You've acted on your own since the start... and... I couldn't have been the one to ask you to give yourself to me because I..." he shakes his head, "Even in my most desperate dream I couldn't possibly have imagined that you could care for me..."

 

He opens his eyes, gazes at David with sorrow and remorse.

 

"So if... somehow... you came to love me... of your own free will... because you saw something in me you thought was worth loving..."

 

"... then for that...I... am truly sorry."

 

David knows better than anyone just how tightly reigned he must keep his own emotions, how easily they slip out of control and blend and unravel until they become an unrecognizable mess.

 

Reason, as always, comes to his aid. He knows he needs to go back to work. They still might come at any given moment, though he also knows how it's less likely to happen now they're in the dead of night.

 

But Hal is looking at him like that , and it's impossible to ignore how everything inside David calls to him. There's desperation in both of them, and it's the worst possible time to be discussing this.

 

It's not manipulation. He knows this, knows Hal doesn't mean to make him forgive him this quickly. Because...

 

"Hal..." he says, hoarse. "Come here."

 

...Because Hal hates himself enough to believe he doesn't deserve it.

 

There's hesitation in his movements. Hal takes a single step forward, then pauses, reconsiders. More than anything he wants to go to David, take solace in his arms. He wants to wrap himself up in his warmth and close his eyes and forget everything outside the two of them if only for a moment. 

 

But he can't do any of that. Not unless he's certain it's what David wants as well. 

 

It takes him some time to process how David had asked him to come closer, his arm extended. Hal stares at it briefly, the very same one he'd offered all those nights ago. David's choices. His words. His actions. 

 

Slowly, like a scared animal, he takes another step, and another until there is no space left between them.

 

David isn't sure of what he's feeling anymore. The only certainty he can grab onto, with all the fierceness he possesses, is how much he loves this man.

 

How he loathes the fear crippling Hal, wounding them both.

 

He holds onto him tightly, himself shaking too.

 

_ "Please" _ , he whispers. "Why won't you just let me do this for you, Hal?"

 

There's so much in his own past to be scared of. Protecting Hal is the only good thing he has done with his life. And now, the people he was running away from have caught up with both , and he needs to fight back. For Hal's sake... and for his own freedom, too.

 

"I... was wrong to ask you here," Hal confesses. Each word tortuously drawn from him. "I'm sorry I'm only realizing it now but..."

 

"I don't want to be the kind of man who asks others to fight for me. Die for me. Not because of what I am but... because of who I want to be."

 

He lets his eyes close once more, not to break any spell between them, but to shield himself from everything beyond the two of them.

 

"I've been afraid of the world since the day I realized the world was afraid of me, who I am, what I might do. Every hour of every day since I understood that what I am isn't normal, that there are people out there who would see me and my kind wiped from the earth..."

 

"...All I've wanted is to be the sort of man who is worth protecting... worth fighting for..."

 

"...but has no reason to ask."

 

David won't let go of him

 

"That isn't how things are", he says, and even if he know he's being blunt-- "Hal... Listen."

 

"You are worth protecting, and already worth fighting for. You're  _ good _ . I'd be glad to give my life to save yours", he kisses Hal's forehead, speaks slowly to ensure his own voice doesn't tremble. He's feeling too much, but Hal is hurt and scared by the chains of old ghosts, and David needs to make him his priority.

 

He can deal with his inner turmoil later, on his own. He has to.

 

"The truth of the matter is... I'd be glad to. But that's not my goal either. I want to live." He asks Hal to look at him, please look at him, so he knows David couldn't be more serious in this. "I want to come back to you, every time."

 

Why is it so hard for Hal to believe what he's hearing? Why can't he just trust David with his heart the way he has with his life? 

 

_ Because it's easy for you, to put your life in another's hands. You think it holds no value. _

 

But here and now, David is telling him that his life does matter. That it's worth protecting and that he wants him to keep on living so they can build a future.

 

Together.

 

Hal looks up into David's eyes, still terrified, unsure.

 

"You... you don't have to do this. The goal is to protect me, then? Not to kill other people. We don't have to stay here and wait to be found, this is a house not some kind of fortress. Now that we know they're coming... we should go. Away from here. As far as we need to, for as long as we must."

 

He turns his head, looks at the tables covered in equipment, the books and papers. A lifetime of work but...

 

"I could stand to lose almost anything," he whispers. "But not you."

 

"This house is no fortress, that much is true", David says, his hands stroking soothing patterns up and down Hal's back. Thinking on his feet is what he does best, and if they think of this together... He looks into Hal's eyes, grounding himself and showing his trust once again.  _ This is my choice. You didn't mean it, to strip my control away from me... _

 

"But we don't have any kind of safe-house or shelter prepared, to run away to. This place, we know it better. It can stand a siege, with the proper arrangements."

 

A pause and then, “Hal... you won't lose me", and David knows, he  _ knows _ it's a promise he shouldn't be making. He’d had a close call this very morning, and nobody could predict what might happen on a battlefield.  Yet, if only one of them is capable of hope right now, he'll have to suffice for them both.

 

He understands well enough why Hal can't.

 

Hal knows an empty promise when he hears it. After all, haven't they all been thus far?

 

_ ‘It's going to be alright.’ _

 

_ ‘I'll come back for you soon.’ _

 

_ ‘We'll be together again.’ _

 

Can he put any more faith in David's words now? Knowing that he has literally no control over their future? What makes this any different that those other times?

 

_ Well... for starters... he wants to mean it. _

 

He's all but ready to accept, to trust in David again, place both their fates in his hands and then...

 

"And if worse comes to worse..." David breathes, in and out, heart hammering inside his chest: "You have my consent to turn me."

 

No- he... he must have heard him wrong. He'd never suggest that Hal should...

 

It's a shock to his system, a twisting at his very core. He stares at David, unbelieving but the look on his face makes it clear that what he heard was no mistake. 

 

"No... No!" Hal pushes David away, fear and something dangerously akin to fury taking him over.

 

"Your consent? What about mine? I... I wouldn't have one of those men take your life for all the world David. What makes you think I should want to do so myself?"

 

He shakes his head, turns away. "What part of this makes you think I'd wish this upon you? For anything? The half-life I'd led until you showed up. That's what you're asking for. And... if I never find a cure for myself that's... something I could live with... to a point. But to do that to you?"

 

He turns back, tears already forming in his eyes.

 

"H-how could you ask me to do that?"

 

Dave has made a mistake, and he knows it as soon as Hal pushes him away.

 

But the thing is, he isn't about to take it back. He meant it. And-- And it doesn't have to be as horrifying as Hal is--

 

"Because it's better than death. Because, I'd rather share the curse", he says, very slowly, "than never see you again."

 

The floor is suddenly such a good place to settle his gaze. He has upset Hal. And there's this need to clarify, to let his last guards down--

 

"Don't speak as if I didn't know what a vampire’s life consists of. I already know, more than I've told you, and more than I've learnt here."

 

\-- So Hal can understand .

 

"I'd rather stay with you as a vampire than die a failure of a hunter."


	13. Chapter 13

The words hang in the air- or word, rather. 

 

_ Hunter. _

 

Not fighter, not soldier, not even killer.

 

But a hunter. 

 

The very thing Hal has been feared his entire life. The natural enemy of his kind. And David was one of them.

 

Or rather, he  _ had _ been. He is so confused... and clearly a fool. Without realizing it, he'd invited an ex-hunter into his home, revealed himself to him and...

 

...and it was a miracle that David hadn't killed him then and there. Had even then given him everything he had to give. Had asked what he needed. Tried to understand.

 

It's up to him now to do the same. Not to react with fear but...

 

"That man... from today. You knew him, didn't you?"

 

The future will bring with it no shortage of opportunity for fear and mistrust. But right now he has a chance for understanding. He will not let it pass him by.

 

David swallows, and discovers himself grateful for Hal's willingness to listen. The word “hunter” had slipped from him, unplanned and honest amidst his passionate speech. He cannot allow himself to ruin this further. And even if it is the worst possible time for a full confession, there won't be another moment unless he talks.

 

"He raised me", he says in the end, worrying the cuffs of his coat between his fingers. Won't use the word “father”. He used to be my master, until he tried to kill me, ten years ago."

 

He adds, tone serious, "I think you saw the scars."

 

"The company started as a mercenary group, mostly working to advance British interests in Asia and Africa. But it slowly turned into a group of hunters, taking on more and more supernatural cases as we kept committing acts of war and assassination on the side."

 

He finds he can't look at Hal's face. 

 

"I barely made it, that day. And I was done with that kind of life right in that moment."

 

There's so much shame, not even all the whiskey in Yukon had been enough to help him drown it.

 

"I've been running away from it since then."

 

Indeed Hal has seen the scars that litter David's body, has had a chance to become intimately acquainted with them all, but he's never asked for their stories. He's always known that David has led a dangerous life, one full of violence and hard-won survival. It is only because of that that he was well equipped to take the job with him in the first place. But he'd never imagined that the truth was quite so... gruesome.

 

"That man... raised you... only to raise his hand against you? Twice? But... why?"

 

"He lost his mind", says David quietly. "After all he did, it was werewolves attacking our camp and devouring half of it, that finally broke him. He became paranoid. Started seeing enemies where there were none."

 

He thinks of his teacher, and his twin. How they never found the bodies, but never saw them again either.

 

"It was during a night, camping out fifty kilometers south from Kimberley. I was returning from a scouting round. He woke up, but he wasn't really there." He pauses, "All in all, I was lucky he was still drunk enough to fail the shot. And lucky that he chose to charge at me with a silver knife, instead of keep trying."

 

Knowing that, even with everything to his advantage, he still hadn't been able to best his father---

 

Dryly, he continues, "Woke up at noon. A vulture was trying to peck at the wounds, and the camp was nowhere to be seen. I managed to get to a small farming village near Jacobsdal, thankfully not made into rubble yet."

 

Hal is absolutely frozen as David relates the story of his past, what was very nearly his death. He's caught between agonizing sorrow at what the man has had to go through, and boiling hatred at the mentor who would have spent so long breeding trust between them, only to betray it.

 

It hits a little too close to home for his taste.

 

"I... I've wronged you," he says in a hushed whisper. "Not... just today but..."

 

"To act as though my experience has been unique, that I alone have led a life of hardship..."

 

Indeed solitude is a difficult thing to bear, but it is perhaps easier than the sting of betrayal. And if Hal cannot quite reconcile the idea of David going after this man for his sake, perhaps he can understand the need to settle an old score.

 

"What... can I do? I want to help you, David. You don't have to fight this battle alone."

 

David cannot help a small, sad smile.

 

"Only you could feel at fault for something I intended to happen, Hal." He takes Hal's hands in his, lifts them to hold them against his chest. "I didn't want to talk about all of this. If it had been my choice... I would've never told."

 

Before Hal can get angry at the admission, "I was ashamed of that past."

 

"As for the battle plan... I'm not sure. My instinct is to tell you to hide, and leave it to me. But I don't know if you can accept that."

 

"I think I've had enough of hiding," Hal says quietly. 

 

"I... I'm not the same as I was before." He bites his lip, considering. "That day in... the park. I... have strength now, or at least I've borrowed some from you. I can be useful to you."

 

It's highly possible Hal is even stronger than David now, although he's had little opportunity or desire to test the theory. And of course with these new abilities have come a host of other...qualities. He isn't sure whether to call them weaknesses, but... he's definitely changed. 

 

"Perhaps... you can teach me. Not just how to fight. I have a feeling there isn't enough time for me to become adept at the sort of techniques you've spent a lifetime learning but... you know these men, know their tactics. Perhaps you can prepare me for what to expect from them."

 

David shakes his head, ideas coursing through him with a buzz, too quickly to let him catch one just yet. "Whatever new strength you may have now... they've spent a lifetime fighting vampires more used to their powers than you."

 

"For now... we should step away from your lab. It's too enclosed of a space to be safe."

 

He offers Hal his hand. Worst case scenario, the entirety of the Diamond Dogs would come for them. And David isn't optimistic enough to plan for anything less.

 

With Hal by his side, though...

 

It is an excellent reminder of what was at stake. 

 

"Do you know how to shoot?"

 

"Shoot... a gun?" It's a redundant sort of question, but despite his offer to help, Hal iscaught off-guard. He fumbles through his thoughts, trying to find some manner of relevant experience, and comes up empty.

 

"N-not exactly. Or, not at all, I suppose. My eyesight was never what I might have called..." He rubs at the edges of his glasses nervously.

 

"But I'm willing to learn! Whatever it takes!"

 

"We don't know what they plan to do, or even how near they are", David muses. As adrenaline finally, finally goes down in jumps and shivers, he manages to breathe again. "We don't know how much time we have."

 

He falls silent for a moment, and then he offers, "The last time I met him, John had an army. Do you understand now? Why I'm like this?"

 

He'd battle an army for Hal. He knows he would. But that's not what Hal is asking of him.

 

There's a drop of resignation in his voice, quieting down how determined he's attempting to sound. "I will teach you. Because if worse comes to worse, you'll still need it."

 

Hal's mind is already spiraling out of control as he struggles to plan, to come up with some solution for this situation, although he has little in the way of concrete information. He doesn't imagine David is being anything other than truthful, even if he can't reconcile the idea that he is willing to go to such lengths for his sake.

 

And when has he ever done anything less?

 

"Teach me everything I need to know. Everything else is..."

 

"This is the only thing that matters now."

 

David just... nods. There's a plan already half-formed in his heart, and it's weighing him down, filling his limbs with lead.

 

"Come here", he says, words so low, they almost don't sound like a plea. He extends his hand to grasp Hal's, leans down to place a soft, tight kiss against his lips.

 

What he's about to suggest feels like a betrayal of sorts, after all.

 

"You have to promise me", whispered against Hal's ear, giving himself the luxury of holding him tight before he starts. "That if  they manage to get inside this house, you’re going run."

 

Before Hal can protest, he explains, "They won't kill me . They want me back. And..." a pause, as shaky as David's hands are right now. "I have seen what they do to your kind."

 

The Diamond Dogs spared no mercy for fellow humans. What they did to their prey--

 

"Promise me. I'd rather have you alive, Hal."

 

"Alive?" Hal grows rigid in David's arms, voice scarcely above a whisper but still full of determination. "Why... why should I want to go on, resume that hollow half-life without you?" He shakes his head, weary and frustrated but unwilling to allow himself the luxury of tears.

 

"David there is no life for me without you. And... I won't give you up so easily."

 

He looks up into his eyes, his own full of questions.

 

"You- you're mine, aren't you? At least give me the chance to fight for you."

 

"I'm yours", David agrees, his heartbeats tight and labored at the sheer truth of it. He kisses Hal's hands, reluctant to let them go. Yet he keeps his voice as low and stubborn as Hal's. "And, as much as I would rather keep you safe, I cannot forbid you. But I need you to listen."

 

"We need to plan for worst case scenario, or preferably - we need to prevent it from happening." It's a risky bet, going on nothing more than what John had told him, and what David knew of his methods. "Should we end up outnumbered, they can't catch us together."

 

Talking in hypotheticals, using ‘should’ with no shame - as if their odds aren't slim already. As if it such a dire situation isn't the most likely outcome.

 

"We'll try to keep them from entering the manor, for as long as we can, together. But Hal, they want me alive - John would've killed me on sight otherwise." He knows Hal will resist him on this, but he really can't see a better way. "We'll be outnumbered. If we can't resist him, you have to grab Grantaire and run."

 

Serious, he finishes, "As long as we're alive, there's no way I'll stop trying to come back to you."

 

Hal nods. "I... I can hide. I'm good at hiding, and I wouldn't ever put myself in danger after everything you've sacrificed to keep me safe."  Part of him wishes they were having this conversation under different circumstances, that he could have found some other time to let David know how much he means to him, but he can be stubborn when he has to. His inability to give up is the only thing that kept him going all those years on his own, after all.

 

"But should we be parted..." He takes a deep breath and steadies himself, "It's the same for me. I won't ever stop searching for you. And I'll find you."

 

Hal pulls back just a little, despite the comfort of David's arms.

 

"For now, though... we ought to think of how to prevent that from happening. Let me help you fortify the manor, teach me what to look for, how best to evade them. I don't want to... to kill anyone if I can avoid it." His gaze falls to the ground. 

 

"That's foolish to hope for, isn't it?"

 

"No. That's why I love you", David counters, softly. Honestly.

 

If it had been up to him, Hal would never come close to actual combat. This is already too much to ask for, and yet Hal stays willing.

 

He'll have to content himself with Hal's answer as it is - fighting by his side and with a promise of reunion.

 

He doesn't speak again before he takes Hal by the hand and leads him through the halls, starts explaining how to stand a siege.

 

It's a dizzying barrage of information, everything that comes next. David goes over everything from how to check out a window without being noticed to how to tell how many men are outside a door just from the sound. 

 

As they pass by the library, Hal can feel his throat tighten, uneasiness in his stomach grinding into a sharp pain. The thought of strangers, soldiers barging through what had become a haven of sorts, throwing books from their shelves, casting furniture on its side makes him sick. 

 

The manor had been Hal's entire world for so long, and the library was the only part of it untainted by unpleasant memories. Is he asking too much, to be left undisturbed and allowed to continue his work in peace with David at his side? He had almost come to believe he was deserving of some measure of happiness, but knowing that there are any number of men willing to fight and die to bring all of that to an end is devastating. Was there no chance of peaceful resolution? 

 

He casts a last look over his shoulder at the heavy wooden doors before hurrying to catch up with David, nodding as he listens to his instructions.

 

"When they come," he says, finding the strength to keep his voice from wavering, "we shall be ready."

 

* * *

 

 

"There you go. Good, good, boy." Adam gives the stallion a well deserved scratch behind the ears as it bows its head to receive the handful of oats he is offering. Though his duties with the Diamond Dogs are many, caring for the stables is one he doesn't mind, having felt a kinship for the beasts going back to when he was a boy. 

 

Trained for the battlefield, the horse scarcely makes a sound when the smell of blood fills the air, slow hoofbeats plodding against the matted straw of the floor.

 

"Boss..." Adam rises from his spot and heads to receive the horse and its rider immediately, the man barely maintaining his place on the saddle, leather straps wrapped tightly around his arm.

 

He tumbles from his seat, nearly knocking Adam from his footing, but the man catches him, manages to sweep a hand across his face and doesn't flinch when it comes away sticky with blood and sweat.

 

"What happened?"

 

"Adam..." John grunts in low tones, frustration and anger evident in a way Adam hasn't seen since... well in a very long time.

 

"What is it, Boss? Did you find him? Is he alive?"

 

"...I need answers. Now."

 

* * *

 

Adam stands silent in the corridor, hair freshly combed, eyes set and clear and only the faintest memory of the scent of blood in his nose. The keys scarcely make a sound as he turns them in their locks and unbars the door. Like so many things in his life they are merely for show. The man inside has no intention nor desire to escape, not when his situation suits him so perfectly.

 

Adam throws the door open, his eyes narrowing as he strains to see into the darkness.

 

"Emmerich," he calls. "We need to talk."

 


	14. Chapter 14

A soft huff of agreement permeates the air, and then the gaslights slowly flicker into life - not for the benefit of the occupant of the room, but rather for his visitor.

He likes to think he is considerate that way.

"There's an old saying going, more or less, that no good news could possibly come after midnight. Have you heard it?"

It's illuminated enough now for Adam to be able to see his smile. And that is on purpose as well.

"Sit down, Adam. I wasn't expecting you quite yet, you see. Surely it's not time playing a trick on me? Is it tonight the night?" Carefully, Emmerich sets aside the last contraption he had been working on inside a drawer. There's a mess of gears all over the surface, racks of guns on the walls. "You should be nicer to your captives. Give me a calendar or something."

As if he couldn't keep track of their dates perfectly well on his own.

Parsimonious, he opens a bottle of vodka. He pours enough to fill a single glass, and as he pushes it towards Adam, he asks, "What brings you to my humble cell?"

Adam locks the door behind him with precise, clean movements before turning and approaching the table. He plucks the glass from its surface and swirls the clear liquid in it a few times before downing it in a single go.

"Not sure how many cells you've seen the inside of, Doctor- but they don't usually come this well furnished." He sets the glass down in a smooth gesture, eyes steady on the man he has come to see. 

"As to the time, I can think of a few reasons to deliver a message at such an hour. Safe arrival of a ship in its harbor, hard-won victory on the battlefield..." He takes the bottle and refills his glass.

"Birth of a son."

"Those..." mutters Emmerich, eyebrows knitted together as he tastes the words of his visitor one by one, trying to glean the meaning off them in advance. "Are some quite carefully worded reasons."

He takes the other chair, sits down. "Aren’t they?"

 

There had been a time, back at the beginning, when he was terrified to death by the mere act of being in the same room as ‘Revolver Ocelot’. 

"So just this once, I won't spend time complaining of how you only keep me this well-cared for because you have a use for me. Which quite hurts, actually... And instead, I’ll just ask for more of this news, if I may?"

It had been such luck, the way they had hit it off in the end.

He raises apologetic hands, and adds softly, "You can't blame a man for being curious, Adam."

The stern line of his lips is betrayed only by the momentary glint of light in Adam's eyes. 

"The Boss doesn't take being lied to very well," he says at last. "Least of all about something so important as the location of one of your kind. It's only by his will you're allowed to live, so I hope you're on your knees every night thanking whatever god it is creatures like you pray to that we do have a use for you." A thoughtful finger traces the edges of his mouth and jaw before he speaks again.

"Imagine his surprise when he found your son, alive and well, safe at home. And feeding regularly, I might add."

He leans over the table, voice low.

"How long do you suppose he's been at it? You think if we follow each missing person and murder case in London we'll find a bloody trail leading back to old Emmerich Manor?"

The slap of truth right in the face makes Emmerich falter, cough. 

He clears his throat, looking everywhere for a hint of what to say. Finding none, he does his best to stay sitting upright. "A lie...? That's quite an accusation."

"Hal's existence is an experiment in itself. After all I've done for you, surely the Boss doesn't resent that I didn't drop all my projects to come with the Diamond Dogs?"

Pushing his glasses, just a hint of nervousness making his voice stutter, he adds, "He's valuable, and b-basically harmless. I know him well enough to assure you - he isn't hunting. "

He offers Ocelot his most sincere tone, "Hal isn't a threat to anyone beyond himself, bless him, so I… didn't think he was notable enough to mention. "

"You've been gone a long time, Doctor. Who's to say your boy hasn't changed?" Ocelot leans back in his seat, gaze never leaving Emmerich's eyes, though his posture is easy, relaxed.

"Besides, the last time we talked about your family you made it quite clear- he's killed before."

"Only by accident", Emmerich clarifies, not missing a beat. "That kind of thing can happen in the early stages of experimentation, when a scientist... doesn't know all the variables he's working with, you see."

His captor's eyes don't abandon him. Emmerich can recognize a predatory stance when he sees one, no matter how apparently unwound a posture. Under Ocelot's gaze, he feels like a bug in a jar.

"You have quite a bright mind, Adam", he concedes, trying his best to put him at ease. "So I think you understand. But please, do tell me what my boy has been up to. It seems like this midnight news you've brought me so kindly has to do with his well-being."

Adam raises an eyebrow at the mention of 'experimentation', but it's those same studies that have resulted in the creation of more than a few pieces of specialty equipment in their arsenal, so he's hardly about to discredit the man's work now.

"Whether this news is good or not remains to be seen," he states, taking a moment to decide just how much he should reveal. "We found your son, sure enough, though we weren't really looking for him. He was just a... fortunate bonus."

He clears his throat before continuing. "The Boss has been on the lookout for one of our own for quite some time now. One of our best agents. He managed to track him down a few days ago, and guess who he was with."

"With Hal?" Emmerich raises an eyebrow. "That sounds like quite the storyl."

Keeping his cool is quite the task, but he manages. "I left Hal to his own devices around twenty years ago. It was necessary. I can promise you, his entanglement with one of your lost Dogs cannot be anything but fortuitous."

"Of course, you cannot hold me responsible for what my child might have done in my absence, especially because the last thing I knew... Well, he was fully grown and very well-behaved when I left him." Holding Ocelot's gaze intently, he dons a shaky smile. "Would you blame me?"

A humorless laugh escapes his lips as Adam shakes his head. "I haven't come here for anything so petty as blame, Doctor." 

"No, it wouldn't be fair to hold you responsible for your son's sins- whatever they might be, in addition to your own." 

He rises from his seat and walks around the table until he is mere inches behind Emmerich, close enough that he barely has to reach out to lay a gloved hand on the man's shoulders, words just above a whisper in his ear. "But I do need information." 

"Extracting that agent has proven more difficult than we'd hoped. Seems that son of yours isn't without a few tricks of his own. We need to know exactly what he's capable of."

The closeness makes every hair on Emmerich's head to stand on end. He can feel the heat coming off the other man's body in waves, his touch as invasive as that disquieting whisper.

Adam always had this way of making him remember the demands of his own body.

"That's the kind of thing I would actually like to see", Emmerich mutters, picking up a loose gear from the table, turning it around his fingers. He doesn't recoil looking for space, stays right where he is. "Why do you think he was kept on his own for so long? His... condition, well, I have nothing but hypotheses to offer you about his abilities. They might not be the same as the ones recorded in proper literature."

His free hand covers Adam's for a second, before it joins the other on the table.

"For what it's worth, my friend, I do not think your agent was turned ."

"If he had been, we wouldn't be having this conversation," Adam snapped back. "Our goal is to extract our lost comrade and bring him back into the fold. A termination would have proven much... simpler."

His grip on the man's shoulder tightens as his voice deepens, a low, predatory growl. "Now about these... ‘hypotheses' of yours, I have your guarantee of complete honesty, don't I? You won't hold anything back from me?"

"Why would I ever?” is Emmerich's friendly, light-hearted answer. Adam is beginning to sound the slightest bit dangerous there, and the methodical anger he favors is not something Emmerich would like to brave this night.

There's so many ways to handle him that do not involve a visit to the man's little workshop of torture. Adam can be downright pleasant most of the time.

It's an easy relationship as long as they both get what they need.

"Please do tell me what your exact doubts are, though. So I know where to begin." He pushes at his glasses, thinking. "Hal is, I dare say, my second-most important project. There's a lot that can be said about him... "

"The only things the Boss cares about are getting David back and destroying any vampires that get in the way." He lets go of Emmerich's shoulder with a shove that is none too gentle but leaves him alone, instead turning his attention to the workbench, letting his gloved hand trail over the various pieces of equipment. 

"Is he immortal?" The question is ludicrous by its very nature, but Adam has seen a great deal in his life, enough that he is unwilling to dismiss any idea simply because it is impossible.

Emmerich knows all about posturing, and so he doesn't complain about the other man's brusqueness.

"Hal wasn't born a vampire," he says, delicately batting away Adam's hand from the revolver he had been modifying. "There was a long and very difficult process involved. The goal was to do away with most of the weaknesses of lore - the sun won't kill him, for example. On the other hand... Well, there's a good reason I only fed him animal blood after he hit four."

His idle fingers look for the cigarettes in the drawer. He extracts one and offers it to Adam, first.

"I needed a control group, you see. Animal blood versus human victims... But the unexpected side effect was that he started growing up like a normal child. He stopped again when he was around 18 - years went by and I swore he never looked a day older. I still have to isolate the reason for that, but if I'm lucky... well, I'll see him again soon enough, won’t I? Since human blood is what provides a vampire with their lengthened lifespan, my current theory is that his body found a way to draw enough nourishment from animal blood to stop aging, at the cost of everything else." 

Lighting Adam's cigarette, he adds, "So he possesses the fabled 'eternal youth' of a vampire. And now you tell me my Hal has been feeding on human blood, so he probably is stronger and more resistant than your average individual." 

"But I would never go as far as to call him 'immortal', no."

Adam nods, satisfied, and places the cigarette between his lips before finding a match to light it. "Some good news then. If he's more boy than man. Or monster, as the case may be."

Some of what Emmerich has told him is old information. After all, he'd had the chance to learn a great deal of it firsthand. He allows the smoke of the cigarette to fill his lungs, pinpricks of heat filling him as he considers the rest. 

"You should know the Boss is set on eliminating him personally, but I imagine that doesn't come as a surprise to someone as... well informed as yourself." He casts a cursory glance at the man, wondering if the news would come as a shock, or if it was simply another calculated loss. "Though I suppose..." He pauses, thinking for a moment.

"You said he was part of your research. The same research that has made all of this," he waves a hand at the table and the weapons that cover it, "possible."

"No sense in wasting a perfectly good test subject, is there?" He picks up one of Emmerich's tools, some glinting rod of metal that tapers into a sharp, spiraled tip. "I may be able to convince the Boss to spare his life, at least for a time if we bring him back here for... more research."

Emmerich smiles. "Don't let my words discourage you, but one would think you enjoy the idea of having my very own son on your table."

The smell of tobacco rapidly fills the room, and he breathes the smoke in, allows it to curl around his nerves, soothing them. There are better methods to get his nicotine fix, but this will do for the moment.

"Hal is...", Emmerich looks for the words, gesticulates. "Very fascinating. A testament of what human beings can accomplish in the quest to defeat death itself. It would be upsetting if he came into harm's way"

Looking into his interlocutor's eyes, he adds, "I'm pretty sure the Dogs might find a good use for Hal that doesn't have anything to do with the business you conduct in the warehouse, Adam. You should intercede for him, you know."

"I can't make any promises," Adam replies, turning his attention away from the table, "but I'll see what I can do. After all, the final decision rests with the Boss and at the moment he's..." He tilts his head thoughtfully, a brief flick of his tongue over his lips.

"It might be best to wait a day or two before bringing it up."

His eyes glance towards the door, then back at the man in front of him. 

"As it's likely to be an intense couple of days, perhaps it's better if we resolve any pending business now, rather than later."

Emmerich runs his tongue over his lips before curving them on a smile, understanding. He isn't being denied. And he absolutely counts it as a victory.

"I do value your efforts, and also the privacy we get for this", he nods. And adds, just for good measure, "You're very considerate, Adam."

It's been years, and he still isn't sure of why the Boss had allowed his most valued, most trusted lieutenant to perform such a degrading task. He's pretty sure the suggestions he had tried at the man hadn't quite taken root.

Long thin fingers untie Adam's red scarf, leaving his neck uncovered. There's a jagged scar right over the jugular, white old edges fading into fresher pink. Emmerich traces it with nothing short of satisfaction , a pleased sigh escaping him as he feels the borders and reliefs of it.

He hadn't been expecting this night's visit, but he had his own reasons to be such an excellent host.

"Would you care for another shot of vodka, or shall we begin?"

Adam pours himself another glass and downs it without a word, eyes never leaving Emmerich's face. Though disgust is easy enough to read on his features, there is something else behind his eyes, something darker that draws over him like a shadow.

He grabs the man's wrist tightly in his hand and for a moment it looks as though he will thrust it aside but instead he guides it away from the vicious network of scars and towards the back of his neck.

He takes a seat.

"Let's begin."

Such posturing, Emmerich thinks, his hand finding a place to hold - because he’s no stranger to such maneuvers himself. He realized right at the beginning how very clearly Adam could see into him and whatever words he said, with almost supernatural certainty. It had frightened him, indeed.

Until cohabitation allowed him to read Adam right back.

"It's just you and me, you know", he leans down and kneels by his side, inhaling the bouquet of his neck. Cigarettes and alcohol intermingled, eclipsing the scent of sweat below without erasing it completely. Emmerich knows he can't take his sweet time for this - this man is too proud to speak without weaving lies into it, both in pleasure and in business. As if neither of them knew of the danger of addiction lurking below in each feeding.

So he makes it easy and bites right then, hard.

Warm blood fills his mouth, and amidst the metal Emmerich can taste the drag of vodka, the tar of nicotine. Just the way he likes it.

There's a growl as Emmerich breaks the sensitive skin of his neck, and Adam can feel each swollen pulse as the blood flows from his veins spreading across his pale flesh as hungry lips seek out their goal. He's spent countless hours in front of the mirror, examining the scars, evidence of this contract between the two of them, one that he has examined from every angle before choosing to let it continue.

It's important the he reminds himself of this, of choices made, bargains struck.

He wonders how it is that Emmerich is able to find his target all, hidden as it is beneath the heavily marred tissue. But then, they've been doing this a long time. 

Long enough that he scarcely remembers the look of revulsion on the Boss's face the first time he caught sight of the bandages.

The pounding in his chest is soon joined by an ache in his head, the drink he'd had before speeding its way through his system. His early groan that devolves into a strained hiss as he jerks away just a bit, feeling the sharp graze of teeth against his skin once more.

"Hurry."

With a huff, Emmerich let's go of Adam's neck for a moment. He tugs at the collar of his shirt, looks into his eyes, serious. "Stay still", he orders.

He's repeated until his voice was hoarse how much easier this would be if Adam stopped recoiling every time, stopped pretending he didn't like it. He doesn't have the patience for it tonight.

Not with the news that have been just brought to him.

There's blood dripping from the open wounds and into Adam's shirt. He doesn't care - it's not his problem.

He licks his neck clean for the sake of it, vein pulsing under his tongue, before he drinks again. Sipping long and hard, any finesse he shows is out of habit and not consideration, but he knows, knows that both of them like it that way. Rough and fast and hungry until he draws and tastes the slightest whimper out of him.

It's not like he cares about Adam enough to make it easy for him. Isn't he just a prisoner of the Dogs? They've made it plenty clear.

He's just taking whatever payback he can until he can't feel the cold anymore.

"You don't get to give me orders," Adam mutters under his breath. He fights to keep his eyes open, but it's difficult, the fault of a long and difficult day combined with the haze of alcohol, he tells himself. 

"You're not the one in control here," tense words through bared teeth. "I've allowed you- I choose to.. gh.." He grumbles again as Emmerich begins again, swallowing mouthfuls, deep and slow. 

"You only get this... as long as I allow it." His breathing is heavy now, words forcing their way through his gasps for air. 

"Don't forget that."

The word ‘liar’ rests heavy and acid on the tip of Emmerich's tongue, begging to be spat.

He just bites harder instead, sucking greedily before he exorcises the expletive by licking Adam's neck - coaxing the puncture wounds to close. Being confrontational has never been his style. He'd rather just conduct their routine in peace. 

His own breathing is ragged, as his heart beats a wild dance, pumping new blood through his every limb. This is his favorite part, this comforting wave of warmth rejuvenating his every cell, curling like vines around his own veins.

He used to be terrified of this man. Had feared him worse than he had feared death.

"Of course", Emmerich says in the end. One hand still grabbing hold of the other man's collar, the other on his thigh. He may be kneeling, but his red lips don't speak of submission, just this once. 

The command had, after all, worked. No matter how much Adam protested.

"How silly of me to dare think otherwise."

Emmerich's tone doesn't escape Adam and his eyes snap open, as he lunges forward. With a single sweep of his arm he forces the hand away from his neck and a second push forces the man to the floor.

"You little... vile... wretched... piece of piss." He stands briskly from his chair, focusing all his strength into standing upright, anger boiling within. "You dare to... to mock me?"

Gloved hands find their way into the man's hair and with a rough pull he brings the man upwards to face him eye to eye. 

"A single word from me and it’s you who will be spread out on my table. Then you'll see just how giving I can be."

A whimper dies on Emmerich's lips. His scalp stung from the harsh handling, and he's pretty sure he'll be getting bruises now he's full of blood.

"Y-you can't. The Boss has a use for me..."

Their entire relationship is an eternal dance of who can undermine the other one best, who is truly in control. He had slipped, and now his knees ached against the stone floor.

Just fed and at his strongest, Emmerich could easily overpower Adam. But it wasn't about that.

"And just how long do you expect him to keep entertaining your self important notions of grandeur?" Adam snarls, their faces only inches apart. "He can't be expected to wait forever, and now that your little... pet project has infected one of his own, I have a feeling he's not going to be patient with you for much longer."

"Who do you think convinced him of your 'use' in the first place?" He thrusts Emmerich to the ground, a satisfied smile curling across his lips at the pained grunt as the wind is knocked from him.

"A single word from me, just one- and you're through here, Doctor."

"But you won't", his breathing is ragged, the ground is unforgiving, but Emmerich doesn't miss a beat. He grabs Ocelot from the lapels and looks into his eyes again, insisting. Ordering.

"You won't."

A moment or two pass through an exhalation, until their thundering heartbeats slow down. And then Emmerich pushes Adam away, slowly grabbing the edge of the desk to help himself up.

"My experiments gave eternal youth and the ability to walk to a poor cowering scientist, put in a wheelchair since childhood by polio", Emmerich states carefully, dusting off his clothes. "Even Hal, who's incomplete, is already so much more than a human."

"Your master will keep us both alive, it's in his best interests." Straightening his glasses, he vows. "He'll have the immortality he craves."

Adam remains still and silent, head suddenly aching from what he tells himself is nothing more than bloodloss. He draws a breath, ready to argue with the man but stops just short, reconsidering his words. When he does speak, his voice is low and soft, like silk polishing a blade.

"I'll pass along your message," he says at last, "but I cannot imagine the Boss's patience will last much longer. If you cannot come up with substantial results, and soon - there's no telling what he might do to your son."

He makes his way to the door and unlatches it quickly, eager to be out of the room and the stench of the man's influence, though the look on his face is even, composed. 

As the light from the hallway envelops him, turning him to nothing more than a stark silhouette he feels a little more at ease. Brow furrowed, he growls back over his shoulder.

"Get back to work."


	15. Chapter 15

In David's right hand there's a wooden stake.

 

In front of him there's Hal.

 

There's the sway of his own heartbeat rushing loud and hurried inside his head as David lunges forward, the tip of the stake sharp towards the center of Hal's body, looking for his chest. He twists it away at the last second for what must be the nineteenth time, panting, finally satisfied with how Hal is parrying away from it.

 

"I'm sorry", he says, because he is. He wishes he didn't have to show Hal this side of him.

 

"This will have to do, for now", he adds. They're both tired. They've fortified the manor, made traps and explosives, left weapons in the available rooms. All there is left to do is to teach Hal to defend himself.

 

Vampires. There aren't many ways to kill them. Some of the methods are just lore. David was taught that garlic was bullshit and that silver bullets were for 'wolves. Decapitation, though, that would do away with anyone .

 

And the wooden stake, while traditional, has been effective for his father before. Many times, indeed, if his stories were to be believed.

 

David sets it aside on a table, and feels the ghost of splinters past on a hand that's not quite his own.

 

Hal nods, mouth still slightly agape as he tries to catch his breath. He's not used to this level of exertion, but there's more to it than that. He's focused every last bit of his keen mind on David's words, done his best to absorb everything he could from these lessons. Though he had gone his entire life with the knowledge that there were those out there who lived with no purpose than to see him and his kind eradicated- it was a distant sort of truth, one he only barely grasped.

 

Now that he's seen these weapons in David's hands, he realizes how little he had really understood.

 

Something changes in David as he shifts from man to hunter. The set of his jaw, gleam of intent in his eyes. Hal knows that David would never do anything to hurt him, cares for him deeply- but he can still feel his heart stop as he draws near.

 

He inhales slowly, tries to calm himself, and wonders how long they can go on like this, constantly on guard. If Hal is feeling weary after only a few days, David must be near his limit.

 

"You've done all you can do to prepare me. We'll fight them off should they come again- and then... then we'll... start again."

 

"Somewhere new."

 

"Together", David confirms. He wishes they weren't this tired. Like this, they’re in no shape to counter the Diamond Dogs.

 

Still, training together must be better than complacency - waiting inactive for slaughter. 

 

They had no way to arrange for a safehouse, isolated from the town as they ae and with David so unwilling to leave Hal alone. But he knows a thing or two about going underground, looking for a new life far away. His experience will have to suffice in the case they have to leave the manor.

 

So many things hinge from hope right now.

 

Still rubbing the palm of his hand with itchy fingers, David takes a step towards Hal. He's worried and there's no use in hiding it. "Hal...", he mutters, brushing his bangs aside to look him in the eye. "Are you alright? Please tell me."

 

Hal twists the loose fabric of his shirt in his hands, not yet able to meet David's gaze. The truth of the matter is that for all his hopeful sentiments, he is beginning to worry that the two of them might not be up to the task. Seeing David shift from the man he trusts above all others into a hunter like those he has been taught to fear is disquieting to say the least. These men are no longer mere phantoms, monsters in the shadows of his nightmares, but real, living, breathing humans.

 

And if they're anything like David, they're capable and deadly, every one.

 

"I'm not..." he admits, "but you wouldn't believe me if I said I was, so there's no use in pretending." 

 

"I just wish I could understand their hatred. Fear I understand. Fear of danger, of the unknown... but..." He looks up at last, eyes red and weary. "Surely, I pose no threat to their safety, to their way of life. And I would never, never seek to create another like myself so-" 

 

His shoulders sink, body trembles with sobs he can't quite contain.

 

"If only all men could be as understanding as you."

 

It hurts David, to see Hal so terrified and fragile. It breaks him, to know he could have prevented this.

 

He had been foolish. Thinking he could defend this home from John without him realizing the true nature of his occupant. He had never put two and two together, hadn't realized in time the dangerous, famed hunter Hal had been warned about was his own father. It was obvious in retrospect.

 

Maybe he hadn't wanted to see it.

 

Maybe peace had dulled his edge.

 

But Hal's frightened look whenever David had charged at him with the stake, even if it was just for practice, reminded him he had wanted to be less dangerous for him. He doesn't want to believe it's a mistake.

 

David goes to Hal and embraces him, letting him cry between his arms.

 

"I'm not sure I have an explanation to offer. I'm sorry."

 

He kisses Hal's crown and exhales. "You should rest. I'll stand guard this time."

 

It would be easy to protest, to beg David to come with him, to hold him in an attempt to keep at bay the monsters plaguing Hal from within. The worst part is, Hal thinks there is a chance David might agree. 

 

Yet they both know this is the only way they might survive. As much as it pains Hal, he must pull himself from David's arms, and bid him goodnight- feeling the cold of the house surrounding him as soon as he's out of his sight.

 

He wastes no time before undressing for the night, but hesitates, staring at his empty bed. The sheets are stale, pillow covered in a faint layer of dust. How long has it been since he's spent the night here? Since he's slept alone?

 

It's foolishness and folly, but that doesn't stop him from pulling the door closed behind him as he creeps out of the room, feeling rather like he's sneaking about in his own home. David's room is warmer, welcoming, and his own overcoat greets him from the chair.

 

David's scent still clings to the sheets, faint, but comforting. Hal curls in on himself, muscles pulling him tense on his side as he tries to relax in one of the only places he has ever known peace and struggles to quiet the feeling that he is alone.

 

* * *

 

 

Snarling, David strains to unwrap the ropes from around his body - they're tight and thick, circling his wrists, crisscrossing his body to pin his arms and ankles in place. Standing spread-eagled, there's not a lot he can do to free himself beyond struggling and shifting, muscles taut under his clothes, hemp biting into his bare skin.

 

Frustration mounts; they don't have the time for this, for him to be stuck in his own trap.

 

It'd probably help, if someone were to turn on the lights.

 

"Alright, alright, enough of a show," he shouts, waiting for any signal that he was heard. "Consider this one tested."

 

David was adept enough at traps to devise his own- far away from a normal scout's guidebook. This one, a contraption of rope and knots located right in the entrance of the manor, was supposed to block the path with whoever was on the vanguard, pinning them there to impede the second wave's march inside.

 

Of course, they needed someone to try this particular combination of ropework. And subjecting Hal to the harshness of the hemp had been out of question, in David's book.

 

That doesn’t mean he enjoys being restrained for more time than it was necessary, at least in this case, while they are racing against the clock. His knots are too good to be easily dismantled and he will need Hal's help to free himself.

 

Other traps, spread across the manor's grounds, are less forgiving. Swinging logs, and Apache foot traps, and catridge traps had joined the rattlecans and snares David had installed since John had come to visit.

 

The siege is getting to their heads. He almost wants the confrontation to happen, if only to stop sleeping in turns with this fear hanging over their heads like the sharpest, heaviest canopy - threatening to drown them.

 

Hal scrambles into action from where he's been watching, what David had deemed a safe distance away. Though David had only agreed to install any non-lethal traps at all at Hal's insistence, none of them are what one might call gentle by any stretch of the imagination. The main thing now is to carefully extract David from the snare as quickly as possible, without entangling him further, difficult work as the two of them are already exhausted and weary from their work.

 

It doesn't help Hal's peace of mind either, that they are been forced to sleep in turns, each one keeping vigil while the other seeks meaningful rest. Hal hasn't said it out loud - he doesn't want David to worry about him any more than he already does- but he knows he won't sleep well until they can lie together once more. Unfortunately, there is little chance of that as long as the threat of Big Boss and his hunters remains, and for most of the day, Hal is left on his own, quietly dreaming of peace.

 

It is rare times like these, when they are working together that he even gets to see David's face. Admittedly, he'd prefer to see him in a better mood, without lengths of coarse rope between them. Just another barrier. 

 

His nimble fingers set to task undoing the knots and tangles of the trap, just as David had showed him before. Hal is thankful he seems to have even a small amount of talent for the work.

 

"Seems a waste to let you free," he jokes, though there is little humor in his smile, tired as it is. "When I scarcely get you to myself at all these days."

 

Rubbing his wrists, David replies completely deadpan, "Once we're completely, positively safe, you can put them on again."

 

He steps away from the coiled lengths of rope, picking at them when they insist on following his pant leg. He doesn't waste a minute in picking them up, deftly looping them again around the hooks and nails he had set, effectively installing the trap once again.

 

His entire focus is on this - protecting Hal, resisting the siege...

 

Killing John.

 

He won’t ever know peace unless he does it - he knows this. The shadow of his father had been long enough to reach into the depths of Klondike, it had followed David ten years. It had followed him here, somehow making Hal into its prey of all the things. Maybe it had been pure serendipity, John being the hunter Hal had hired him to counter. At least this way he can both protect Hal and find closure as well.

 

Failure is not an option. 

 

He finishes setting the trap and steps away. Tired, his hand slides and finds a comfortable place in the small of Hal's back. "You haven't eaten", David says, and for once he isn’t thinking of the pleasure and the warmth of a feeding, but of how Hal hasn't had proper nourishment since before John had waltzed into their lives, ruining everything.

 

"No, but... it will have to wait." 

 

There's no use hiding the disappointment in his voice. It's been weeks now, since Hal's last proper meal, but seeing after David's recovery and helping him to fortify the manor have taken priority in his life. 

 

Besides, he's found himself with little appetite these days.

 

Yet it isn't his thirst, dull, but omnipresent, that fills him with longing. When his thoughts wander, it isn't the taste of David's blood or the rush of his pulse that captures his imagination. 

 

Rather, what he misses most are those moments after. The brief seconds when he's left hovering just above David- keenly aware of every inch of space between them, before the two of them come together, leaving no trace of any separation at all. 

 

He wants the two of them to be safe, of course- but that seems so impossible and far away it's hard to imagine. Instead, Hal dreams of smaller things, wishes for quiet moments between the two of them, shared whispers and lulls of silence in each other's arms.

 

And every night when he wakes, in the fleeting minutes when he finds David and reaches out to him as he prepares to take the watch- he thinks he sees a sadness in the man's eyes that tell him David's been thinking of a quiet kind of peace as well.

 

"I'd rather--" David starts and then he closes his mouth. There's so many things he'd prefer to this ongoing state of alert. But they need to be practical - Hal needs to be fed, as much as David needs his senses sharp and vigilant.

 

A compromise must be reached.

 

"Soon, it'll be my turn to sleep", he offers. Because he has been thinking about this for a couple of days now, he imagines he has the proper words. "You should try and get a meal in you when I go, and before your watch starts." A pause, and then he slides his hands on Hal's shoulders, finding the tension coiled there - asking him to look at him.

 

"I know it's pushing our luck. But if everything goes well, I would have the chance to rest and you'll be feeling better."

 

Hal hasn't the strength to argue with him, doesn't want to, not really. But he too has fallen into the vicious cycle of constant vigilance, unwilling to let David bear the weight of the responsibility alone. Besides, he lived for years with precious little in the way of true rest or sustenance.

 

How quickly he'd grown accustomed.

 

"You are right," he agrees at last. "A tool in poor condition is of little use, after all."

 

"An hour?" Perhaps it is too much to ask, but even those fleeting minutes would be heaven. "The last half hour of your shift and first of mine. I'll meet you in your room?"

 

Something inside David's body had bristled at hearing the word 'tool' from Hal's lips, referring to himself. He isn't sure he has the patience to have this argument with Hal this time. It breaks him, how little Hal thinks of himself.

 

Even after months of peace together, it was so easy for Hal to go down the road of self-loathing. It's... discouraging, to say the least, knowing that it is something David can't repair for him.

 

Maybe it's the same for Hal. David knows he hasn't quite been himself since the siege started, too.

 

"An hour will be just fine", he agrees in the end. He wants to say something, anything to keep the conversation going. Shared silence doesn't feel comforting anymore, it's sharp on the back of his neck. "Did you sleep well?"

 

He almost doesn't hesitate before adding, "I've missed you."

 

Despite how long it's been since his last meal, Hal can feel a blush slowly rising to his cheeks at David's candor. He hasn't told David how he's felt directly, but perhaps it's because he is aware of the man's absence at his side with such aching acuity at every moment that putting it into words seemed unnecessary. He always feels rather that admitting it might fall under the realm of complaining, and he knows that it is crucial, now more than ever to support David in his work to protect them both.

 

"I've missed you as well," he finally whispers. "I... know you're never far away, but this sort of cohabitation... parallel lives at odd hours..." He looks up with a sad smile. 

 

"Reminds me of old times."

 

"Old times, huh...", and David can't help but crack a wistful smile. It had been less than a year ago, and yet a lifetime has passed since then.

 

Perhaps it is because he feels he hadn't really liked being alive until he had come here.

 

"We should go far away once this is over", he says all of a sudden. David is tired and his nerves frayed - he would never be so candid otherwise. "Sunlight doesn’t harm you, so I wager you can also cross running water. And if you can... Why would we stay here?"

 

David likes the manor, it's tied to precious memories. But if the manor isn't safe anymore... "I could show you the world you want to see."

 

They can make safe other places, as long as they have each other.

 

Hal's heart leaps up into his throat and it must be stifling his breath as well because no sound comes from him to answer. Though their evening in the park had nearly ended in disaster, Hal's thoughts had drifted more than once to the idyllic hours they'd spent arm in arm on the street, like normal people. 

 

The outside world has always terrified him, but with David's assurance, he is willing to make the attempt.

 

But of course, reality is unwilling to let him go just yet.

 

"I... David, trust me when I say I would like nothing better. But..." His mouth is dry, words hard won. "If we leave this place... we leave behind everything. My... my work. I might never recover it. Might not ever..."

 

He wants to hold David's hand in the sunlight, look out over the ocean with him, see the colors of snow...

 

"I might not ever be the man I want to be for you."

 

David lowers his eyes, not wanting to admit the ache inside his chest at Hal's words. He won't admit out loud how much he would have liked Hal to agree. To jump ship with him, once John was dealt with.

 

Quietly, he just counters, "You're already the man I want."

 

He lets go of Hal just as gently.

 

"I'll go finish with those snares from the other side", he explains. Summer it may be, but there have been frequent rains, and he doesn't want the snares disarming amidst the mud. "And then hit the showers."

 

It's will be good for them, to have this. They can have the intimacy of a feeding, even in the middle of the worst weeks of the year.

 

It's a testament to just how weary he is that Hal concedes now, bows his head and lets a tired smile cross his lips. Even though he can't fathom David's blanket acceptance of everything he is, for now it is enough to take respite in his words, allowing their kindness and warmth to surround him like the gentle arms he has so sorely missed. 

 

It may be folly, and he cannot allow himself to linger too long on such promises, lest he be tempted to forgo his work altogether, but for now it gives him strength.

 

"Go. Take care of yourself," he sighs as David finally lets go of him.

 

"I shall find you shortly."

 

David nods and turns his back to Hal, thoughts in his head racing. As he tends to the snares and traps, so familiar for him he could make them in his sleep, he tastes acrid regret and resentment on the back of his palate.

 

There's a list of things he's never going to forgive John for. But intruding in the life he had managed to assemble by Hal's side is at the top of it. These weeks, waiting for his return, every second tense and sharp as walking barefoot over the shattered remains of their peace... 

 

David doesn't like what has become of him since their encounter. He knows he has regressed - that the ruthless, distrustful animal within himself he worked so hard to drown is awake again.

 

He has been doing his best to not allow Hal to see it, and that's another reason for the distance he’s kept. His is not the kind of burden he'd want to share.

 

It's only as he showers in the oddly modern contraption set in the master bathroom, warm water from the boiler washing away sweat and mud, that he admits to himself he's scared of this feeding.

 

The memories of them make his blood rush, they heat him up faster than the water and steam falling over and surrounding him. He's longed for Hal's embrace well enough during these weeks, and his body remembers almost painfully the warmth of his kisses, the sting of the fangs piercing through David's neck as he held Hal flush against him.

 

The palms of his hands ache with the nostalgia of Hal's skin.

 

Quickly, he opens the tap of cold water in a single movement and lets it pour.

 

As much as he loves Hal, as much as he wants to keep him nourished and healthy... Right now, David needs his sense of control.

 

If the Diamond Dogs come while their guards are down...

 

He steps outside the shower and quickly dries himself off, puts on his night clothes. Something gnaws at the pit of his belly, but in all honesty, it's not that different from the feelings of anxiety and doom that has covered the manor like a fog since John's visit.

 

Sitting on his bed, he could swear even the walls are closing in. His room has never looked so oppressive.

 

He waits for Hal with a mixture of apprehension and want he hadn't felt since the beginning of their arrangement.

 

* * *

 

The talk of research sends Hal downstairs for the first time in many weeks, and it is not without some guilt that he counts the days since he last did any real work. Fortification notwithstanding, he knows he had indulged in countless days and nights made up of nothing more than enjoying David's company in the past. Somehow, working tirelessly to find his 'cure' had fallen by the wayside.

 

But if they are to leave this place someday, either by choice or while seeking safe harbor elsewhere, the least he can do is compile his notes, prepare them for a quick escape. 

 

It is strange though- he thinks, as he turns the brass handle to the basement door, pushing it open as quietly as he can- that he can see light coming from below.

 

* * *

 

 

It is sometime later when the door to David's room opens, but the relief he feels at the flash of silvery hair is short lived.

 

"David," Adam says, not bothering to meet his eyes. He adjusts the red scarf around his neck, only looking up when it meets with his satisfaction. "It's been a while."

 


End file.
